Newkirk and the German Widow, reposted
by C0ffeeVaMpire
Summary: This story has mystery, drama, and romance. I read a lot of HH stories and read a lot of great ones. Here is my attempt to write an idea that's been brewing in my head for awhile. Thank everyone who've read this story and commented. Hope you all like it.
1. Chapter 1

_*Author's note: I pulled the story to make some changes as per some reviews. Elements that I planned to introduce later are now in place to add to the action quotient of the story. However, there are some points that I want to address. In World War II, even in Germany, condoms were issued to service members, and unfortunately, women had to resort to desperate measures to survive-some even turned to prostitution._

_Also, Newkirk, in the episode that this story idea is based, "Stickey Wicket, Newkirk," meets a barmaid, and that same day, goes with her to her apartment. After they have one drink, she is in a robe, cuddled next to him on the sofa, toasting to "The Moment. Also admit nothing and talk to no more strange women." Newkirk, says, "One at a time is enough, luv. With ya all the way, luv. Before we get down to more personal things, which really can't be too soon for me..." shows that indeed, our Newkirk, is a randy, young man who would take up an offer when presented to him. I did not change how he responded to Gretchen's offer._

_One final note. Thanks to Marleen23 her most excellent idea presented in a wonderful story called In Search of Nimrod. Her author's note at the end of the story was the other kernel of idea for the basis of this story. Again, thanks for the reviews: especially from whirlyite, Abracadebra, AllTrekkedUp, Fear-Of-The-Cold, mmwaveprincess, and HeroesLover77. I appreciate your reviews, suggestions, and observations, which is why I pulled this to rework it. Stick with me with patience and I can only say that I'll do my best not to disappoint._

C0f2eVaMpire

Newkirk was chafing at the bit to have a forty-eight hour leave in Hammelburg. It had been nearly six months since "The Incident" involving Gretel and Major Hochstetter. That had been a close 'un, he thought ruefully. He had things to do and people to meet. He'd had to lay low for a while, so the six months started out slowly with him having to earn back the trust of every one of his mates and especially with Colonel Hogan. It took some time, some biting his tongue, and doing everything asked of him with a positive attitude, but now he was back where he should be in the thick of the action. This proved a nice change because he had been bored out of his skull. And, once again he found himself longing for the action of his double life and, of course, for some female company.

He lit his third cigarette of the day while sitting at the table in the common room, a solitaire game laid out in perfect order waiting to be played. He replaced the bite of the tobacco at the back of his throat with some of the brew that passed for coffee at Stalag 13, the taste of chicory lingering longer than the tobacco. The solitaire game sat in front of him as he tried to think of the most recent of his contact activity. The last one he remembered with a smile was the bird from Hammelberg who gave him information to pass onto London, which he'd done. Before they could become better acquainted, she'd been moved to Berlin. He wondered who had taken her place. He'd have to risk the use of the radio to find out. Then as his thoughts turned to the fairer sex, he tried to remember the last letter from one of his many birds back in England. It had been a long time since he received even a note from even one of them; the only mail he seemed to get lately were letters from Mum, his sisters-mainly from Mavis, and a couple of short notes from his two younger brothers because not all of the nine siblings liked to write letters. It was nice to get mail from the family, but it didn't help him with his current situation. He found himself wishing he had kept more than a couple of notes from Rita; currently, those and some of the other letters were lining the inside of his combat boots and uniform blouse. Dismissing thoughts of his fan dancer, he looked up and around the barracks to see what the others were doing and whether he should give up the game. He knew that Kinch was manning the radio, so sending that important message right then was out of the question, so he calmly assessed what his other two best mates were doing.

LeBeau was at the stove messing around with a foul-smelling concoction which Newkirk was sure was their noonday meal. He was muttering to himself in French about the lack of a certain seasoning or other. It had taken awhile, but Newkirk, over the period of the two and half years, so far had managed to learn a bit of the his li'l mate's lingo. Newkirk turned his attention to his other best mate only to find Carter lying on his bunk reading _The Last of the Mohicans _for the second time that month. Newkirk smirked as he thought at least Carter's lips weren't moving this time. He shook his head slightly at the thought. He really shouldn't be so mean to Carter, but it was just too much fun to pick and tease him. His only decision now was who the latest victim would be.

Just as Newkirk decided to pick on LeBeau and French cuisine, the bottom bed that served as the entrance to the tunnels opened and quick as you could say "Bob's your uncle," Kinch climbed up and out. Swiftly he passed the others, headed straight for Col. Hogan's office, where the officer had retreated this morning after roll call. Immediately, the other three members of the core team came together in anticipation, trying to guess what the cause for Kinch's abrupt behavior.

"Well, maybe the war is over," Carter murmured hopefully.

The other two gave him a look. "Yeah, and I'm the ruddy Queen of England, mate," Newkirk muttered.

"Well, I can always hope, can't I?" Carter responded defensively.

"Oui, vous pouvez, mon ami, mais aussi garder à l'esprit la réalité," LeBeau replied. "Maybe le Colonel is being sent home again..."

All three remembered the near disaster this order created...the three shuddered in unison. No one wanted Col. Crittendon returning any time soon! Silently, they agreed to prevent this by any means necessary if that was in the message.

Meanwhile, in the Colonel's private quarters, Kinch barely knocked before he entered the room. "Col. Hogan, message from London, sir," he said as he passed his commanding officer the note. He waited as he watched the colonel read the message for the second time. He wasn't disappointed.

"They have got to be kidding!" The colonel growled. "Who do they think we are?"

"Apparently, they think we're saboteurs, sir, ones with a very long reach," Kinch muttered.

"It can't be done! There is just no way we can travel to Berlin. We are still prisoners, ya know," he muttered at Kinch.

"I know that, sir, but with some of the things we've accomplished in the past, they must think this is doable. Just a guess," he finished when he caught the look Col. Hogan threw at him.

The Colonel sat in his chair and wrapped his arms around himself the way he always did when he tried to think of something. Kinch stood by the door, ready to take the answer back to London.

"So what do ya think is going on in there?" Carter asked for about the third time since Kinch rushed past them. He was sitting at the table kibitzing the game of solitaire that Newkirk decided play. "No, the king goes there..."

"Andrew!" Newkirk growled in his throat, "cut it out! It's called solitaire for a reason."

"Geez, you're sure grumpy all of the sudden." He got up from the table, walked back to his bunk, sat down, and then was up again in five minutes. Carter got this way whenever they got orders from London, especially if it involved his favorite thing: demolition. He loved the way earth shook when his explosives did the job. He may have been a klutz at some things, like walking, but boy, he sure could work magic with chemicals. In his head, he was already going over what he had in stock and if he needed more dynamite, line, or whether he had to mix up something special. His eyes were gleaming just thinking about it.

Newkirk sat back from his game, shook his head, and smiled as he recognized that look in his friend's eyes. He sucked on the end of his cigarette before stubbing it out. LeBeau hadn't said anything during the time Kinch was in the colonel's office. He just stood at the stove working on lunch, content to wait for the colonel's entrance. Newkirk sighed and was again bored. He didn't like waiting. It seemed that he was just as antsy as Andrew. "Louis, don't 'ou even wonder 'at's going on in there? 'at all?" He asked, moving over to the stove deciding to go with his first choice and annoy the Frenchman about his cuisine. Loping an arm about the diminutive French's shoulders, he sniffed the potent brew. "Cor' what is that?"

"Not today, Pierre. You are not going to annoy me about my cooking today, mon ami. I am trying a new recipe and have seasoned everything to perfection-well as close to perfection as the war allows," he grumbled as he stirred the contents of the pot slowly clockwise and then counter clockwise.

"Long as it's not eels or snails, mate, I'll give it a try. Just wish once in awhile you'd make some bangers and mash, shepherd's pie...me mouth's watering at the thought, li'l mate. I'd e'en quit nattering at ya about your cooking for at least a coupla months if ya did."

"Hummmph," LeBeau growled, "Allez-vous. Go away. Go bother Andre."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Just as Newkirk saddled over to his and Andrew's bunk, the door of the office opened and out came the colonel and Kinch, both wearing worried faces. Newkirk and Carter moved back to the table, with LeBeau bringing up the rear. Suddenly, the need to make contact with the Underground took a backseat to the concern and worry he had for Col. Hogan. Once they were all seated at the table, Col. Hogan placed his foot on the bench seat, leaning on his arms on his upraised knee. He always took this position whenever he to think about things. He pushed his crush cap back on his head and took a deep breath. "Ok, fellas, settle down. Kinch just got word from London. We have a job, and it's a doozy. In fact, I'm tempted to tell London it just can't be done..."

"What do they want us to do, Colonel, kidnap Hitler?" Cater asked trying to lighten the mood.

"Might as well be that. Instead, it's someone very high up on Hitler's staff who wants to get England. We have to get him out of Berlin and onto London; meanwhile, we can't risk blowing our cover here. This may be the most difficult thing we've ever tried, so I'm just asking for volunteers on this."

A deafening silence met the end of the sentence. It persisted for a few minutes until Carter scratched his head and asked, "Sir, are we gonna have help on this from the Underground or what?"

"We'll have to if we want to even consider this. I'm thinking maybe a visit from our friendly neighborhood Abwehr agent, Major Hans Teppel, might be necessary to at least get us to Berlin without any problems, but we have to contact London for permission for that." He paused for a brief moment, "Kinch, get on the radio to London and try and get more details for the assignment; also see if we can use our Abwehr agent if at all possible." Turning to the others gathered around the table, "The time- table is not too pressing on this just yet, so I suggest you all get your relaxation where you can find it."

No sooner were the words out of Col. Hogan's mouth before Newkirk decided this was his chance to get in touch with his new contact. He opened his gob to ask, "Does this mean I still get me leave in 'ammelburg, Guv'nor?"

Hogan frowned slightly and motioned for Newkirk to follow him into his office. Once inside, he closed the door and sat on the stool at his desk. Newkirk remained standing, albeit casually. Hogan stared at the English corporal for a few minutes before sighing loudly. "Have you learned your lesson, Newkirk?" he asked the man without being specific as to what the exact lesson was.

Newkirk snapped to attention and said, "Yessir. I 'ave, sir. No more pickin up bloomin' barmaids. Exercise more caution in me movements. Don't dwaddle. Be aware of me surroundings at all times. And most importantly, avoid pretty frauleins who are Gestaop agents. Sir, I definitely 'ave learned me lesson. I'll follow your orders to the let'er. As a mat'er a fact, sir, I was goin' ask Louis what he did on 'is visit to town last time. I mean that turned out all right, dinnit?" Newkirk finished with a Cheshire Cat-like grin.

Hogan remained quiet for a bit, sensing the pent up tension in the corporal as he waited for him to make a decision. The Colonel stood up, walked over to Newkirk, and placed his hands on the other man's shoulders. Looking him in the eye, he said, "Ok. You can go to Hammelburg, but be careful. God, I feel like I'm seeing my son off on his first date..."

Newkirk practically bubbled over with enthusiasm. Finally! Finally, a chance to go to town. He'd been inactive so long, London probably thought he was dead. He needed to get to the radio to let them know he was still active and needed to make contact with the new contact man who replaced that bird from the Hauserhof. He noticed Hogan still looking at him warily. "Sir, I will be careful," he said pronouncing all of the letters for all of the words, "I really have learned me lesson." Newkirk grinned at Col. Hogan and asked permission to go down to the tunnels under the guise of to getting ready for his R&R to which the colonel readily agreed. He made it down to the tunnels only to discover that Kinch has just finished up on the radio with London and was on his way back up to deliver the response to Col. Hogan.

Newkirk went to the radio, powered it up, dialed up the frequency for his personal network of contacts, and began transmitting his message in short bursts of Morse code. Within minutes, he had his answer. He smiled when he read the first line of the message. "Where were you? Thought you were dead. Can meet tonight. New contact at small inn called Ruhige Time Hostel outside of Hammelberg." Peaceful Time Hostel, huh? Nice name for a place...might even take my R&R there, he thought as he moved to the document room to work on his forgeries for the identity he'd use for the meeting. While he worked, LeBeau visited and they got to talking about where he'd taken his forty-eight hours. Turned out to be the same place where Newkirk's secret meeting was schedule. It seems like Kismet was in play...

Newkirk decided that was first thing he was going to do when he got to the meeting place, was to get a couple of beers, a spot to eat, and then find a nice room that boasted real hot water, a nice claw-footed tub for a long soak, and then sleep a coupla hours on a real bed, unless his contact visited him sooner, and then the night time would be the perfect time to prowl for information that Nimrod was interested in and then move onto the kind of female company Newkirk had to limit himself to on this trip.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Later, Newkirk was dressed as a Wehrmacht lieutenant. The orders he forged earlier were to perfection and would serve as his identity for the initial contact and for any meetings thereafter; he smirked as he glanced at them. Damn, I did a good job on these, if I do say so meself. The inner pocket of his uniform blouse was full of the good counterfeit money they made in the tunnels-even better than the real thing lately. His "pencil sharpener" was tucked in the specially made sheath fitted into the uniform between his shoulder blades. He had a small travel bag to help with the illusion that he was an officer from the Eastern Front on the way home to Fuchstadt. He planned to pick up the information, have some rest and relaxation, and then come back to camp and send the information off with the next escapee flyer they send to England. He was quite sure that Col. Hogan had guessed his alter ego, but he was very thankful that LeBeau and Carter had given up their quest to discover the identity of Nimrod.

Finally, he had his turn at the weekend pass, which allowed Nimrod to get back to work. This would be his first time out in six months, other than on missions for Hogan. His orders from Col. Hogan were to avoid detection, get it out of his system, and come back ready to work with no distractions. He shuddered involuntarily remembering the looks of disappointment in the eyes of his mates and especially in Col. Hogan's eyes after the "Gretel Incident." He again vowed that he'd be more careful this time and obey orders, he would. He shook his head to clear it and decided he'd get a decent shave whilst he was out and about. Newkirk smiled and remembered his l'l mate's advice from just a few moments ago and he fingered the couple of small tokens of affection Louis had given him.

A few minutes earlier:

LeBeau had left Newkirk as he worked on the papers he'd use for the coming weekend, and when he'd finished in the forgery room of the tunnels and moved to the branch where they kept the uniforms. Newkirk started dressing for his weekend as Louis returned and watched his best friend shave and then comb his brown curls into a more manageable style. "Pretty soon, mon ami, you're going to need a haircut." LeBeau said to Newkirk as Louis shifted on the cot that was kept for use by Kinch or Baker whenever they monitored the radio.

Newkirk finished up with his tie and placed his cover on his head. "When I get back, you can gimme a trim, eh?"

"Assurément, mon ami. I will be happy to cut your hair. I will also be happy to give you some advice before you go," Louis said with a knowing smile. He reached into his pocket, took out a couple or three of items, which he then handed to Newkirk. "Louis, wha'...how?" Newkirk gasped as he took them and stuffed them into one of the inside pockets of his fake German uniform, a place that usually held a couple of sticks of dynamite or other items needing concealment.

Louis grinned and said, "I got them the last time le Colonel and I were in Paris..."

"Blimey! an' 'ere are some 'em left..." Newkirk chuckled throatily.

LeBeau chuckled in return. "Oui, mon ami. It has been something of a dry spell lately. So, you've decided to go where I went for your weekend?"

Neither noticed when Carter came down the ladder from topside. He stood by the ladder taking in the sight of his two best friends. They'd switched from English to French, with the color rising in both their faces as the conversation grew more animated and graphic in nature. Carter caught just snippets of the conversation due to his grasp of French not being as good as his grasp of German or Lakota. He felt his own cheeks blushing when LeBeau started describing a certain encounter with a pretty fraulein on his last forty-eight hour trip to Hammelberg. Then LeBeau moved into giving directions to the place where he'd met her. "Peut-être qu'elle va avoir un ami, non?" *

Just then Carter interrupted with, "Guys, said Newkirk better get going, or the whole thing is off."

"Alright, Andrew, I'm going; I'm going," Newkirk said while slipping on his outer jacket.

"Remember, Pierre that the hostel is a little out the way place just outside of town. It's called Ruhige Time Hostel . Word is that it's run by a widow. It called a hostel, but it]s really a cafe/bar. The food is not too bad, either," LeBeau finished as he watched Newkirk make his way to the ladder. Halfway up, Newkirk stopped gobsmacked, and said, "For you ta compl'ment the food, it's got to be good. Later, all!" He was gone without a backward glance.

* Maybe she'll have a friend, no?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Out and About

Peter looked around Hammelberg watching the people move to and fro guarded expressions gracing their faces, casting cautious glances here and there. Everyone minded their own business, and no one paid any attention to the one more uniformed presence in a city already saturated with men in them. Newkirk made his way up the main thoroughfare until he found a small barber shop. The bell above the door tinkled in response to his entry announcing him as if it was announcing the King of England in the silence of the place. Glancing around self-consciously, he engaged the proprietor with a brief smile. The owner, who had a ginger colored handle-bar mustache waxed to perfection, returned the semi-smile and said, "Guten Tag, mein Herr. Was kann ich für Sie tun dies schönen Tag?"* He motioned for Newkirk to hang up his outer coat and make himself comfortable in the barber chair.

Newkirk moved to the chair and in his best German accent said, "Guten tag, mein Herr. Ich brauche meine barthaare schneiden, nicht rasiert. Bitte."*

He'd decided to get just a trim by a professional because he just couldn't resist. So much for letting LeBeau bring his curly locks to bear when he got back to camp. He just couldn't forgo the opportunity of having a proper cut.

"Kein touch-up militärischen haarschnitt? Tragen sie länger an der front, ja? Das ist, wo man stationiert sind, ja?" the owner picked up his scissors and a little black comb and began to snip here and there, all the while talking about the weather, the sports event that was going on at the Town pitch, and occasionally speculating where Newkirk was stationed if it was not classified. Just the normal, average everyday barber shop conversation. It was almost too surreal for Newkirk to believe that he was sitting in a barber shop in the middle of Germany having a conversation that could just as easily have taken place in the shop he used to frequent in Stepney. A sudden wave of homesickness hit him like a ton of bricks, and he had to clear his throat to avoid the emotion. The owner completed the trim but insisted that he be allowed to clean up Newkirk's sideburns properly. Before Newkirk could snap his fingers, the man had trimmed them to where they no longer were passed his ears following his jawline. With his neatly trimmed hair and sideburns that no longer looked like muttonchops, Newkirk felt like he had done three weeks out of boot camp. He ran his hands over his shorter hair, feeling the lightness of the newly trimmed locks. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and swore he looked like Andrew-clean cut, almost innocent looking. He thanked the man, paid him, and then left the shop.

Now that items one and two had been taken care of, it was finally time to take care of the next items on his agenda: a couple of pints, some good pub grub, and making contact. No offense to Louis' cooking really, but Newkirk's mouth watered at the thought of decent pub grub, even if it was German. You can take the man outta the pubs, but not the love of the atmosphere: the thick smoky smells of food and cigarettes mixed with the amber smell of beer and stronger things. He had practically grown up on the offerings of the local pubs what with always trying to hunt down the old man during the benders he'd take off on. He quickly changed that path of thinking. He didn't need to go down that road this weekend. Instead, he meandered down a path which led him to the edge of town to the cafe/pub that LeBeau had mentioned earlier that also was the meeting place with his contact.

The outside of the building looked in decent shape despite the recent Allied bombing raids. The roof looked like it could use some minor repairs. The white paint on the outside of the building was no longer pristine but had faded to a dull, aged ivory. The only thing that seemed in good repair were the dark green shutters that framed each window. Keeping his cover in mind, unconsciously, he slipped into the proper frame of mind for a little reconnoiter outside the building for any hidden access points beyond the casual observations. Walking around the outside of the building, he noticed that there was a back entrance that led to the kitchen, accessible by a trodden path located close to a sprawling dvarf beech tree, which itself contained many hiding places. He walked around, underneath, between the branches, and and behind the tree to the smaller bushes located nearby. He found no one and nothing lurking in or around outside the building so he walked back around to the front of the hostel.

The door squeaked as he stepped through the entrance and into the main room. From the doorway, he could see the bar/cafe off to the side of the main room and the main desk/reception area. For a very brief moment, he looked around the lobby to scope out the front of the building for any quick exits. After noting their locations, he made his way to the reception area and tapped the bell. Waiting five minutes or so, he tapped the bell again. Another five minutes and another ring of the bell. "Ich komme! Warten sie einen moment, bitte." A head poked out from the kitchen area. Eyes widened at the site of a man in uniform at the desk. She paused to catch her breath and thought, at least he's not in Gestapo black. Newkirk turned at the sound of the woman's voice, which was sort of deep and throaty as if something was caught in her throat or she had smoked a few too many cigarettes.

The lady was not old, nor was she young. Her hair was dark chestnut, almost the color of mahogany wood burnished to a shine. She wore it up in a sensible bun with the bangs framing her face like a prized Rembrandt. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes wide set, a striking brown, almost black and yet showing a dull weariness, and he thought he saw a flash of fear there. He noticed that she was nicely proportioned, with a generous bosom, and flared hips. he couldn't help but stare openly because he'd always been a leg man that despite the longer brown skirt, he could tell her legs went on forever. She noticed him sizing her up and sighed. Verdammt noch mal einen anderen. Not another one, she thought wearily. "Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen, mein herr?" she asked in a voice overburdened by the war, too many unattached men, or men who just don't give a damn anymore...

"Mir wurde gesagt, dass wir räume für kurze zeit? Ich hatte ein zimmer für das wochenende, fräulein, bitte," he replied in his best, most serious accent. "You see, I have a weekend pass, and I need a place to stay."

She noticed he had a small travel bag with him, so she asked for his papers and was given them. Barely giving them a glance, she explained, "Ten marks a night. Food and drink are extra. There is a bathroom in one of the bigger rooms, otherwise, you will have to share with the other guests. Sign here."

He her eye and said, "I think I'd like to have the room with the bath, please, fraulein."

"How long will you be staying?"

"Just two days, maybe," he said as he signed the register using the alias on his papers, paid for the room, and followed her up the stairs. She came around the reception desk and started toward the staircase. Newkirk stepped up behind her and climbed the stairs while appreciating the view and what a view it was. The view of her hips swaying as she climbed the steps was worth the lackadaisical attitude she exhibited to him during the whole checking in process. She asked, "Where are you stationed, mein herr?" She stopped suddenly as if afraid she might have asked the wrong question, "That is if you are able to discuss it, of course."

He almost ran into her at her sudden stop. Might be nice to do just that after business, of course, he thought as he clucked his tongue at the thought. "Sorry, but you stopped rather suddenly, fräulein."

She hadn't moved from where she stopped, but rather she turned to face him and said, "Frau. Ich bin witwe, mein herr." She didn't allow him to answer her question; instead she proceeded straight to the room at the end of the hallway. Opening the door, she went inside and showed him the layout of the room. Turning toward the door, she gave him the key and said, "The kitchen closes at 9:00, along with the cafe. The bar is open until curfew at 10:00PM." She headed out the door without a backward glance.

Barber shop conversation:

*Good day, sir. What can I do for you this fine day?

*Good day, sir. I need my hair trimmed, not shaved. Please.

*No touch up military haircut? Wearing it longer at the Front, yes? That's where you're stationed, yes?

Hostel conversation:

*I'm coming! Wait a moment, please.

*How can I help you sir?

*I was told that we premises for a short time? I had a room for the weekend, Miss, please.

*Woman. I am a widow, sir.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Coming fully into the room, he walked the layout the innkeeper had just done and was impressed with the room's size. The first thing he did was to check the room for any listening devices. Ten minutes later, he was satisfied that the room was clean. Next, he went to the windows and checked them for possible exits in case of emergency. When he was sure he could survive the scramble down the drain pipe connected to the building located near the biggest window, he moved to his travel bag and unpacked. Once he settled his clothes into the drawers, he took the time to look around the room as a whole. The place somehow held the feel of a once nice sized cottage turned into a cafe-no make that hostel-as an afterthought. This room had more than likely been the master suite in the place's former existence. Newkirk moved to the bathroom and saw the claw footed tub just waiting to be used. God, it had been a very, very long time since he'd taken a nice long soak, and glancing at the bed, he thought, it'd been almost as long since he'd slept in a real honest to goodness bed. Maybe Carter had the right idea. Maybe he should use his forty-eight hours to catch up on the things that made people feel good, but then he smirked thinking of some other activities that made people feel good, too. Ok, after business is done, he thought, maybe I'll just combine the other two things, if I get lucky.

He removed his boots and socks and walked around the bare wood floor, stopping on the nice woven rug on which the bed rested. He played with the little stringy ends of the carpet with his toes just to keep in practice with grasping things. After all, he thought, in your line of work, Peter me old son, you never knew when a situation'd arise when you'd need that particular skill. Stopping at the table by the window, he gazed out at the almost noon-day sun, and then he put his lighter and cigarettes onto the table top. He looked at his watch realizing it was just about lunch time and too early to go downstairs to the bar for the meeting. Sighing, he moved in the general direction of the bed and sat down almost groaning with the pleasure of feeling the soft goose down meet his posterior. This is just too flippin nice, he thought as he sank deeper into the pillow and mattress. I'll just rest up for wee bit before going down to the bar for the evening. After all, me pencil sharpener is still within easy reach.

While her new guest was checking things out and himself comfortable, the innkeeper, Gretchen Hoffman, age 32, was back in the kitchen trying to keep the cook from leaving during the lunch rush. Even though it was not exactly the Haufbrau or the Hauserhof, the inn was a semi-popular place for lunch time. Gretchen was herself an excellent cook, or at least that's what she'd been told, but she was not a professional cook like Heinrich Dorfman. The older gentleman was at the stove cooking some bratwurst and potato pancakes for one of the regular lunchtime guests and was saying in his very nasal, slightly irritating voice, "I have to be paid, Gretchen. I have my own family to feed, liebe. I know things are tight for you, but they are tight for everyone. My wife-oh that woman!-is hounding me for money...money for clothes, money for shoes, money for cigarettes, money for this, money for that...she will be the death of me, the shrew," he shook his head in disgust. "I don't mind staying if I can get some bit of money, Gretchen." He fell silent at the look on her face.

Heinrich had been one of the first people to come to work for her after she had opened the hostel, and he was the one that suggested adding cafe and bar services to the existing services. She shrugged her shoulders, losing herself, briefly, in the memories of that awful time.

****Flashback*****

Three years ago, Gretchen Hoffman had been a wife and mother whose only concern was how to run her home. After all, Hitler had made women working a rarity, even more rare was a wife and mother who worked outside the home. Before Herr Hitler had become Chancellor of Germany, she and her husband, Friedrich, had been professors at Hammelburg University where she had taught English literature, and he had taught art and history. They had a comfortable living. True, they were not members of the NAZI party nor did they agree with the extreme views of the new Chancellor, but things were indeed getting better in and for Germany, at least economically. The Fatherland had come out of the worst economic depression in recent memory, and the Sudatenland was back in German hands without the loss of blood. Then, she had gotten pregnant with their first child. She and Friedrich were ecstatic. After years of trying, she was finally able to conceive. It was only when the President of the University informed her that she was being let go due to the pregnancy that she felt a slight feeling of disappointment. He explained that it was university policy and that his hands were tied. Gretchen then resigned herself to become a house frau.

As her pregnancy moved along uneventfully, her husband's career was anything but uneventful. He increasingly came home agitated over new policies the university was enacting at the behest of the new regime. He worked himself into fits over the loss of intellectualism in Germany and how things were going from bad to worse. Then Herr Hitler and Premier Stalin had invaded Poland, splitting the country between them; this was the last straw for him. He began openly disavowing the new regime and everything for which it stood; he publicly called them brutes and thugs, even as they rebuilt the national police force, the Waffen-SS, which was formed out of the SchutzStaffel or SS. Finally, in an effort to avoid public association with her husband, the University of Hammelberg quietly let him go. They had no income to speak of, a baby on the way, and he was all but blacklisted from other teaching facilities which were following Party doctrine. He turned to the only source of income he could-the Wehrmach, the regular army corps of Germany. It was a risky proposition for someone who had been very vocal about the direction Germany was heading; however, he had a baby on the way and a wife to take of, so he did what he had to do. Friedrich Hoffman swallowed his principals and enlisted before he was drafted. The baby was born while he was away at training. The baby was a beautiful baby boy who looked just like his mother, dark hair, dark eyes, and very pale skin...

For a while, things went smoothly. He was stationed near their home in Hammelberg. Gretchen kept the house, took care of the baby boy who looked like his mother, while Friedrich toiled away unthinkingly in the army. He was at the rank of Korporal. Officers' ranks were reserved for the Party members, and despite his economic position at the time of enlistment, Friedrich had refused to join the Party. They were getting by when the fighting started. War had broken out in Europe. Britain and France declared war on Germany and her allies. The push to capture France was on, and with the push came Friedrich's transfer to active duty fighting. It was the day that she had secretly dreaded ever since Herr Hitler, now known as the Furher, came to power in 1933. She hadn't let her fear and dread show as she'd seen him off on the transport train bound for France. Instead, stoically, she'd kissed his cheek, had let him hold Albert, and had told him she loved him and would see him home safe soon. That proved to be the very last time she'd seen her husband alive. Three weeks after that departure, his body was shipped home in a box draped with the NAZI party flag. The funeral took place three days after she had collapsed upon seeing the casket. She didn't attend the funeral.

Shortly thereafter, providing for her family, even with widow's benefits, was a constant worry. She could not go back to teaching because she had a family, and a woman's place was running the home, or so the Party dictated. As the war ramped up in pace and brutality, she found help in the unlikely friendship of Heinrich Dorfman, a former army cook from the Great War who was deemed too old to serve in the current fighting. From their collaboration, the cafe/hostel was born. The bar was added a year and a half into the business as a means to make more money. With the bar came the need for a bartender and serving maids. Inger was the day barmaid/server and Astrid did the same in the evenings. She'd just recently hired Bruno as the bartender.

******End Flashback*****

Gretchen shook her head as if to clear it from the memories, stopping herself from remembering the most traumatic of them. She shuddered and turned back to Heinrich, "...if there is some way you might pay me something-any sum to get that woman off my back, I'll stay..." he was saying as if she hadn't allowed her attention to wonder.

Folding her hands in her apron, she said shortly, "I'll see what I can do, Heinrich." She paused to calm herself. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to snap. Please, could you at least stay for the rest of today and tonight? I'll have some money for you tomorrow morning." Although where she was getting this miracle money was the question of the hour. "Please," she added quietly.

Heinrich blew air out of his mouth in a huff and smiled a small knowing smile, "For you, Gretchen, I'll stay the weekend, liebe." He turned back to the small stack of orders and immediately began preparing the next one from memory.

Gretchen moved back to the reception area, went into the room behind the desk, and sank heavily down on to the overstuffed chair that her husband had favored. Mein Gott, where am I to get money to pay everyone something? she thought dejectedly. In the silence of her small rooms, she cried quietly and for not the first time that week.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Newkirk awoke with a start, his hand behind his head automatically clutching his knife and at first not remembering where he was or why he was there. The room's windows were open allowing twilight to peak through the curtains like a Peeping Tom. Sitting up on the rumpled covers, he paused to clear the wool from this brain. Slowly stretching out his neck and shoulders, he stood, shook his head, and walked to the table by the window for his cigarettes and lighter. He puffed contentedly as he adjusted his thinking: he was Her Leutnant Anton Brauer, on a week's leave from the Eastern Front, staying here only for the weekend on his way to Fuchsstadt which was home. He checked his service Luger, deciding to break it down and clean it again, just in case. The he surveyed the rumpled bed, already thinking passed the brief contact and already hoping for other more pleasant activities to take place on that soft, comfortable venue. When he finished his cigarette, he stubbed it out in the ashtray, put on his socks and boots, got his uniform blouse, belted on the regulation service revolver and holder, and then headed out the door for the waiting adventures of the night.

Arriving downstairs, he stopped at the foot of the stairs in the open foyer before the entrance to the cafe/bar. His stomach growled in response to the delicious smells wafting towards him from the kitchen. His feet led him into the bar, which was doing a lively business for it being just after sunset. He saddled up to the bar and ordered a beer. The air was thick with the smells of cigarettes, beer, and traditional foods like hendl (chicken), schweinebraten (pork roast), steckerlfisch (grilled fish on a stick), wursts (sausages) of different varieties, brezn (pretzels), knodel (potato or bread dumplings), and riberdatschi (potato pancakes). For now, ignoring his stomach, he moved to the bar and sat down on a stool. Taking out a cigarette, he caught the bartender's attention and ordered a beer. When the barkeep placed the beer in front of him, he asked for a light. "My friend smokes Davidoff brand, but I prefer Boss," Newkirk said as the bartender brought the lighted match to the cigarette. He sucked in the smoke and waited for the response.

Bruno Reiger's eyes widened with recognition; he almost burned his fingers, he was slightly surprised at his contact coming so soon. The Underground mentioned that the contact would be this weekend, but he didn't expect it to happen so soon this weekend. The man in the German uniform had given the right code and was waiting for the reply. Taking a chance, Bruno replied, "I prefer West cigarettes myself, although I'm trying to quit." He shook the match out. "We need to meet later tonight. I have information."

Pretending he didn't hear the last bit, Newkirk put in an order for some steckerlfisch, kasspatzn, and bratwursts, and proceeded to munch on some brezn and finish his first beer while waiting for his order. In Germany, it was the closest he would come to an order of fish and chips until he got home. Casually, while munching, in between the brezn, he quietly whispered, "There is a dravf oak outside. I'll meet you there after the bar closes. Flash the lampe twice. Then twice more." Without another look or word, as if everything was as it seemed to other customers, Newkirk got his second beer and moved to a table in the corner of the bar. Wearing a guarded expression, he surveyed the room for possible threats but he didn't see anyone observing him or his actions closely, so he looked around for potential dates for later on in the evening. There were three girls at a corner table looking rather bored, each nursing a beer as if trying to make it last until the bar closed for the evening. They were almost dressed alike in drab brown, short skirts and grey, gauzy blouses that did little to hide the generous curves of their top and bottom halves. He was just about to go over and introduce himself to the ladies to gauge their interest in company for after dinner company when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the innkeeper staring at him with intense concentration. Unconsciously, he looked down at this uniform seeing that everything was in order while unconsciously moving his hand behind to his left sleeve fingering the second smaller knife he secreted there. Deciding to read her gaze, he locked his gaze to hers, making her look away after a brief moment. When she looked away, it was then he noticed that her eyes were red-tinged as if she had spent the better part of the afternoon crying, if he was any judge of character. Briefly he wondered what it was that bothered her, but then he remembered Gretel and Berlin Betty, and more importantly the rendezvous with Bruno later on that night. No strings, he thought, no bleeding strings and thought again of the other birds he'd taken a brief, personal interest in past. No' 'is time, me old son, no' 'is time, he promised himself.

He was sliding off his barstool about to saunter over to the ladies' table when Gretchen intercepted him by bringing his dinner to a table closer to the bar. "Your food, mein herr," she said as she led him over to the table. Instead of just leaving the food on the table and allowing him to tuck in, Gretchen seated herself in the chair opposite and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher from the nearby table. "Those women are not the best company for the evening, mein herr," she stated quietly before taking a sip of the water.

"Really?" Newkirk asked, amused, "And why do you say that, gnädige frau?"

"Because you never know what you will catch if you 'fish' in those waters," she said calmly as if discussing the weather. "I assume you are looking for female company for the evening, ja?"

Blushing slightly, Newkirk was taken aback by her straight forward nature. Swallowing a sip of his beer, he decided that two could play at that game and answered, "Ja, I am in town from the Eastern Front for the week on my way home in Fuchsstadt. Just staying over the weekend, as you know." Let her chew on that one, he thought, taking a bite from his steckerlfisch. She watched every move he made with eyes half lidded. He found himself staring at her as he devoured the steckerlfisch and moved to the kasspatzn and bratwursts alternately. She didn't say another word but let him finish his dinner. She watched as he wiped his chin on the napkin and sipped more of his beer, waiting for him to finish. "Your company at dinner was an unexpected pleasure, gnädige frau, but if you don't mind, I have plans for the evening, if a certain one of those ladies is agreeable," Newkirk said and made to get up from the table.

The hand on his was calloused from working in the kitchen. He looked her in the eye and resumed sitting across from her. "I have a proposition for you, mein herr."

"And that would be..."

"First, my name is Gretchen Hoffman, and I am the owner of this establishment. Plainly put, mein herr, I need money to keep this place running, and the stipend given to widows by the government barely covers the operating expenses. I am proposing that instead of taking the chance of getting something rather nasty from one of those women over there that you pay for additional services here at the inn provided by me. I'm sure I don't have to go into specifics and that you'd find this option more agreeable as well as safer. Believe me, this is not something I do as a matter of habit." She paused, "You do have nice eyes," she finished is a voice so small it almost broke Newkirk's heart.

He felt his insides start to melt, but he had promised himself...Dammit, how could he resist her obvious need? He tried to help her see she was making a mistake. He leaned forward on his elbows bringing his face closer to hers, his green eyes sparkling with sympathy. "I don't know if I can allow you to do this, Frau Hoffman," he whispered to her as he instinctively took hold of her hands as if to comfort her. "Surely there must be someone who could assist you. Someone your husband served with maybe or a relative..."

She interrupted, "If I don't get some money this weekend, my kitchen staff and cook will leave as of Monday. Then I will lose my business and my home. I don't have the time to waste. I was thinking that maybe two hundred marks for the weekend would be amenable. What do you think, mein herr?" she asked removing her hands from under his and sitting stiffly back in her chair resting her hands in her lap.

He was surprised, "Two hundred marks? For a weekend?"

"Ja, for a whole weekend, except the mornings when I have to work in the cafe; only one stipulation: no kissing on the mouth."

He wondered what thoughts were going through her head as she calmly discussed the price of selling herself. He knew that times were getting tougher for the Third Reich economically and that food was getting scarce for nearly everyone except for the Party elite. He also knew that there were many widows and orphans suffering deprivation and sharing the same situation as Gretchen. He knew that if he didn't accept her invitation, she would make the same proposition to someone else, someone probably not as empathetic to her plight as he. He made a decision.

"All right, two hundred marks for the weekend but also for the food and three drinks in addition to one drink with meals. Deal?" he asked as he took her hand again.

"Agreed. Sehr gut," she said and sighed.

"Then, I shall see you...?"

"I'll be up to your room when the kitchen closes. I have to help close up and clean up. Until then, feel free to run a tab. I'll come to your room when I am done washing up," she moved to stand and leave.

"Frau Hoffman," she paused in the midst of standing, "let us say 11:30. That will give me time to be presentable." Newkirk remembered that he still had to meet the barkeep. Newkirk managed to assist her by moving the chair away from the table and gently moved his hand to the small of her back. She glanced at him askance, noticed his smile, and then left him to go to the kitchen.

Once there, she grasped the sink with a white knuckled grip and gasped aloud when Heinrich asked if she was all right. "Fine," she mumbled, "We'll be fine, and you'll have your money Monday morning." Before he could comment, she moved to the stove and took a hand in the cooking.

Meanwhile, Newkirk went to the bar and ordered another beer, lit a cigarette, and surveyed the room again. It was slightly more crowded as people drifted in for a drink either having either just gotten off shift at one of the local factories or before going on shift. . Besides the ubiquitous ladies of the evening, the small bar was half filled with civilians and others in uniforms. Newkirk made a mental note of how many were Luftwaffe, Heer, and Wehrmacht. Thankfully, he didn't see any SS or Gestapo uniforms for which he was very glad. He kept watching the bartender. He observed the man as he went about serving the customers. His contact has a short, stocky build, short brown hair, a scar on one cheek that went from his left eyebrow to the corner of his lip. His hands were steady as they served the drinks either to customers or to the barmaid. His clothes, like pretty much every other civilians', looked like they'd seen better days. All in all, he looked perfectly normal, and that was what bothered Newkirk. He just couldn't quite place his finger on what it was that bothered him about Bruno, but there was more to the man. He was very glad indeed when Col. Hogan had given him leave because he could tell if Bruno was a threat to the Underground in the area and then deal with that threat. He sat forward on the bar stool, nursed his third beer slowly, feeling the familiar slight buzz he allowed himself before stopping short of full-blown buzz. Because his dear old Da was a drunk kept Newkirk from indulging too often in drinking to excess on most occasions. He didn't want to get too buzzed, just enough to make the time pass so as not to seem suspicious and to soothe his already naggin' conscience, which ironically took the form of Andrew's voice. As if I don't get enough 'is natterin from in the barracks, he thought irritably. He took another long pull from his cigarette, blew out the smoke in a huff, and then went back upstairs to his room to await the time for the meet.

Maybe I'll have a nice long soak'll after I stash the information 'e has, he thought as he made his way into the room then to the bed. He checked the bedside table and found an old copy of the Bible. He put the book back in the draw and looked for something else to read. Newkirk had never been a religious man, and he wasn't about to change that. Finally, he found some paper and started to doodle. He caught himself doodling her eyes, and before he knew it, it was ten fifteen. Ya better get a move on it, Peter, me lad, he thought getting up from the desk, opening the window, and going down the drainpipe like a thief in the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Taking great care, Newkirk slowly, carefully climbed down the drainpipe and reached the bottom. Briefly, he remembered the nights in London, slinking from rooftop to rooftop on various misadventures during his misspent youth and where those adventures had led him. Clearing his head from the wool gathering, he looked around for any signs that he'd been noticed, ducked behind the adjacent outbuilding, and made his way to the tree he'd seen earlier. He was at the tree for about ten minutes before he heard a noise like someone trying to avoid making noises on a carpet of leaves, a few steps and then every so often a crunching sound. If this guy's tryin' ta be quiet, 'e's bleedin' failin', he thought disgusted. His night vision was perfect, so he saw the guy stumbling along the edge of tree. Newkirk shielded his eyes when he saw the two brief flashes from the lampe. Then a brief darkness, and another two flashes. He gave a low whistle and the sound came closer to the sprawling oak.

"I hear that West cigarettes are grown without nicotine, so they're supposed to be better for you. I've hunted for them everywhere, but I guess I'm not a very good hunter," Newkirk whispered.

"They are getting scarce; I think it's been six months since I've seen a pack. This is my last one, but I let you have it, even though Boss have a better taste to them," Bruno supplied. "Here have this pack; I'm sure I can get more and you'd like to try them once you try them." He takes out a pack of average looking cigarettes and hands it to Newkirk, along with a brand new lighter.

"Danke. I'll bring them with me on my trip home. Next time, I'll see about returning the favor if possible."

Bruno looked like he wanted to say more, but he followed the script as it written. Hopefully, next time he'd find out more about his elusive contact. He looked up, but noticed that no one was there. Shrugging his shoulders, he carefully made his way to the path and home. He had a lot to report.

Slowly, the evening crowd dwindled in number. Gretchen hardly noticed. She had too much on her mind to pay attention to the few remaining people. Heinrich seemed to get the hint that she was preoccupied with other matters and soon stepped in with vigor to finish the remaining orders. He knew from experience that whenever Gretchen busied herself in the kitchen that something was on her mind, and obviously, for the time being, she had decided not to share. He was certain that eventually she would talk to him about whatever it was that was troubling her; until then, he had best leave her to her thoughts. He paused for a moment, watching her begin the breakdown process for cleaning and closing. She was a handsome woman, and he never understood why she refused to remarry. There had been two or three possibilities, but she'd turned a blind eye.

Wool gathering will get you nowhere, he thought to himself as he called Astrid, the night barmaid, to get the last order. She will talk when she is ready and not before then, he decided to himself. In silence, they cleaned the stove, pans, counters, floors, and sink. Finally an hour and a half later, the kitchen was spotless and ready for use tomorrow morning.

Heinrich, grabbing his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, said, "Guten Nacht, Gretchen, liebe. I see you tomorrow morning bright and early, ja?"

She grimaced and replied, "Ja, bright and early, Heinrich. Take care going home," she said softly as she watched him escort Astrid outside. Gretchen noticed that Bruno, the bartender, had left as soon as the bar was closed. He didn't really socialize much after work, or even during work, for that matter. He was very much a loner, that one, but he worked hard and was good for doing the lifting she and Heinrich couldn't do. Wiping her hands on the bottom of her apron, Gretchen took the steps to her room with trepidation. True, she chose this course of action...mainly because it was the only thing she could think of doing to get the money quickly. She'd picked the gentleman because he seemed just that-a gentleman despite being in the army. Mein herr, as she began to think of him, did indeed have nice, kind eyes that were a remarkable shade of green. With his newly trimmed hair, he looked almost too young to be in the service-of any kind. However, the way he carried himself belied his youthful appearance. This man had seen and done things that would haunt him most likely for the rest of his life. She rolled her shoulders to work the kink out of her back.

Her rooms were private and located directly behind the reception desk which locked at night. She went to the front door, locking it tight before curfew, so she wouldn't be bothered tonight by the night watchman. Moving back towards her rooms, she stepped into the silence which had ruled them like Hitler had ruled Germany for the past ten years or so; the oppression was almost too much, especially in light of events to come. Firmly, she shook her hair loose from its bun, stripped of her clothes which she then meticulously put into the laundry basket, and moved to the bathroom to shower. She tried not to think about what it was she was about to do. The previous experiences she'd had were not something on which she wished to dwell, and after each time, she swore it wouldn't happen again. The first time she had done this was the worst. She remembered crying silently, shedding no tears throughout the whole ordeal. The man hadn't been rough, but he hadn't been the most gentle of men either. She had showered for what seemed like the longest time until the hot water was running ice cold. Then, her tears had come.

One does what one must to survive, she thought firmly. She stepped out of the water spray and toweled her hair dry. Quickly, efficiently, she patted her skin dry and then dressed in a black skirt that stopped just short of her knees, a wrap-around blouse that tied in the front and accentuated her bosom. The teal color of the blouse went well with the black skirt and set off her eyes. Lightly, she applied lipstick of deep red, a slight stroke of blush, and smoky shadow on her eyes. Mein Gott in Himmel! I have turned into a painted lady, not a bad looking one, but still...she thought as she finished putting her hair in a tight chignon. Squaring her shoulders, she walked briskly up the stairs to see Mein Herr.

She arrived at the door, knocked briskly, waited for a few minutes-hours, and then knocked again. After about ten minutes of standing in front of the door, she pulled out her master key, opened the door, and lightly stepped inside. "Mein herr?" she called softly. Hesitantly, she made her way into the room and looked around. The bathroom door was ajar, and there were noises coming from it. She paused, not wanting to see more than she was ready, and then she heard it. Soft snoring issued from the bathroom. She went to the bathroom and found him soaking and sleeping in the tub. Stepping back, she knocked on the bathroom door and waited for a response. She cleared her throat rather more loudly than normal, which brought about the expected results.

While Gretchen getting ready, Newkirk made it back to his room with almost ridiculous ease. He locked the window and drew the shades. Sitting on the bed, he swiftly removed his socks and boots, stripped out of his uniform, placed his pencil sharpener under the edge of the mattress on the right side of the bed and the smaller knife from his left arm in his right boot, and secreted the pack of cigarettes and the lighter in the false bottom of his carry-all. He hung his uniform on the suit rack next to the closet, and then went into the bathroom. He glanced at the tub, stepped into the shower, ran ice cold water, almost by habit, and showered quickly. Finally he drained the tub, and on a whim, he turned on the spigot as hot as the water could get and filled the tub with soapy bubbles. Slipping silently into the tub, he groaned in pleasure as the hot water, enveloped him in its liquid embrace. Damn, a man could get used ta this, he could, he thought, sinking lower into the tub. Blimey, I could almost die 'appy, he thought as he blew through the soap bubbles. He determined to soak only for a bit, but a bit turned into ten minutes, and into twenty minutes, and before he knew it, he was snoozing in the watery comfort of the tub.

The knock on the door, followed quickly by the clearing of the throat brought him to instant wakefulness. "'Cor," he breathed out breathlessly. Then he remembered his assignation for the evening. Damn, he thought as he scrambled from the tub, I didn't want to greet 'er in the all together. He wrapped a towel around his waist, dried himself off the best he could with another towel, and observed that a feminine arm was projecting through the door holding a soft robe of blue. Laughing to himself, he accepted the robe with a muffled "Danke" followed by, "I'll be right out, Frau Hoffman."

She caught herself smiling when she heard him quietly laughing at himself. Maybe this will bearable, she thought. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembers the glimpse of him sleeping in the tub. Maybe it won't be so bad after all, she smiled.

Newkirk stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the robe... With an air of embarrassment, he ran his hand through his damp hair, stopping short as he took in the vision which stood in front of him. 'Cor Blimey! Wha a looker! he thought as he just stared at her. She is gorgeous. "You're exquisite, Frau Hoffman, simply exquisite. Danke," he managed before she turned away.

"It has been quite a while since I dressed up for anyone, mein herr-"

"Please, Anton, not mein herr. My name is Anton Brauer. Are you quite sure you wish to do this, Frau Hoffman?" he asked trying to read her face like he would a deck of cards. Unfortunately, her poker face was almost as good as his because he could see none of the trepidation that had been displayed while she was in her rooms. Instead, all he could see was the determination, resolution, and slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and he wondered at that. If the situation was reversed, he doubted that he would be smiling, even slightly. Crackers, that's what I am, bleedin' crackers. I came 'ere ta do a job, and ta 'ave a nice time with a lady, but I end up turnin into bleedin Andrew, he thought as he shook his head with a slight smile of his own. That boy is goin 'ave a bad influence on me.

Gretchen saw the smile and the gentle shake of his head as he moved to the closet for his uniform. She panicked for a brief moment and moved forwards to intercept him. "Anton," she whispered, "Gretchen is my name, and ja, I am sure."

A little later, she curled into his shoulder amazed that she felt so comfortable with what just occurred with this man. He took his time to make sure she was satisfied as well as seeking his own satisfaction, and he was passionate, yet considerate at the same time. She leaned into his neck, grazed her lips against his ear, and sighed contentedly. He turned his head to her and smiled a generous smile, "Mein liebe," he whispered as he ghosted a kiss on her shoulder. "Tired?"

"Mmmmm," was all she could reply as she settled herself close to him.

She felt him shake with quiet laughter. It seemed he found humor in oddest times, she thought as she, too, laughed quietly to herself.

"So you are relaxed, ja. Serh gut. It is nice to see you smile," he rained feather light kisses on her eyes, cheeks, and the tip of her nose, "I try to please," he said. He yawned widely and said, "I'm tired, too," as he settled himself around her. His arm rested protectively over her side, meeting the other underneath her neck. She was enclosed in his embrace, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt safe and was almost glad for this present situation.

He didn't drift off to sleep until he was sure her breathing was regular and steady. Then, he allowed himself to recall the evening as a whole and decided that all in all, it was a very pleasant, productive evening. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, and a beautiful woman in his arms. What more could a man ask for, he thought before he surrendered to sleep entirely.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sleep was a warm velvet cocoon from which he had trouble waking. The bed was soft, the covers plush, and the pillows very comfy; however, something was missing. Without opening his eyes, he felt around for her. Opening them, the first thing he noticed was that she was not snuggled up to him. Secondly, he noticed that the bed on her side was cold, and she hadn't been there for a while. Quickly, he sat up and looked around the room trying to spot where she might be, but he remembered that she had a hostel to run. Damn, I slept too good, he thought angrily. I can't afford ta let that happen again. Swearing again softly, he got up from the bed and padded to the bathroom taking care of his morning ablutions. Dressing in his uniform again and replacing the necessary items in their respective pockets, he went downstairs and to the cafe. Newkirk lit his first cigarette of the day as he ordered a coffee from the barmaid. A newspaper, or what currently passed as one, was lying on the neighboring table, so he picked it up and quickly scanned through the headlines. Nothing but bloody propaganda, it is, he thought disgustedly. Just once, I'd like ta read the bleedin truth in a newspaper, any newspaper; still, what they're passin off as news'll still come in handy for a short report to London. Again, he looked up and around the room for Gretchen, but he didn't see her.

He thought back to last night and despite his lapse of tradecraft, a smile spread over his face like sunshine after a rainfall. Then, the cloud appeared on his forehead when he remembered the circumstances that led to last night. It would have been one thing if I'd wooed her, he thought again feeling the guilt and hearing Andrew-his conscience-nattering in his head. He had to admit he just didn't feel right about continuing this arrangement. Definitely hangin out with Andrew too much for me own good, he thought ruefully as he considered his next course of action. Stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he looked up just in time to see Gretchen on her way to his table. She carried a plate of fried potatoes, brown toast, sausages, and porridge with cream and honey along with a glass of milk and another coffee. She set the plates on the table then sat down primly in the opposite chair.

Newkirk'd watched her as she began to unload the tray, and when she'd finished, he asked, "Is all this for me, liebe? Surely you'll join me for breakfast?" Before she could say anything, he corralled the barmaid, Inger, and asked that she bring a set of silverware to his table for Gretchen. Once Inger went on her errand, Gretchen was sure that the gossip would be starting with the girl's arrival in the kitchen. Newkirk barely noticed the barmaid's departure, so taken was he by the slight blush to Gretchen's cheeks. On impulse, he secured one her hands, brought to his lips, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. The blush blossomed making her careworn features carefree for time.

"I woke up this morning, and you were gone. Regrets?" he whispered softly all the while caressing her hand with his thumb. He waited for her to say something-to say no.

She glanced down to the table where their hands were joined. She withdrew her hand when Inger approached the table with the extra silverware. Inger smiled happily as she presented the silverware to Frau Hoffman; she was so happy that the gnädige frau had found someone so handsome and well-mannered, but she wondered where she'd met him because Inger didn't remember him visiting before today.

Gretchen blushed all the more under the speculative gaze of Inger and from the heat coming from those green eyes from across the table. "Thank you for the service, Inger; now go on back to work, please," Gretchen managed without too much effort. To Newkirk, she said, "Anton, please. It's going to be hard enough to explain where the money came from let alone what I did to get it." She ducked her head to her chin briefly in embarrassment.

"Liebe, I wanted to talk to you about that very thing. I don't feel right about this arrangement-before you say anything, please let me finish. You are a respectable woman, a business woman, who just happens to need some help. Allow me to help you by loaning you the money instead of repeating what happened last night, not that I wouldn't mind spending more time with you like that. But, I need to know that it is something you want for yourself, not something you're obligated to do. Am I making sense of this at all? Because believe me, last night with you was one of the best moments I've had in a very long time, Gretchen," he said while stroking her hand lying on the table.

She seemed pensive as he waited for her to say something. He wondered if he hadn't misread her cues; it been so long since he'd interacted with a woman of her character and charm. Of course, he'd had many lovers over the years, but he could count on one hand how many women could be characterized as a lady. He let his thumb trace circles on the back of her hand until she finally said, "You don't feel right spending time with me for money, yet you were quite willing to pay those other women for their time and for services rendered? Seems kind of hypocritical, don't you think?"

He flushed with embarrassment. This was not how he'd imagined the conversation would happen. Newkirk ducked his head and ran his hand over the short hairs on the back of his neck. "True," he said plainly, "This is true, but they expect that kind of attention, whereas you obviously don't." He sat forward, "Gretchen, I don't want to take advantage of you. I want to help you if you'll allow me. Please take the money as a loan, and you can pay me back if and when the inn makes a profit. I think you are a remarkable woman, and one I'd like to get to know better."

Gretchen sat back in the chair and studied his face looking for any signs of deceit. The last thing she needed was someone taking advantage of her. Instead of deceit, she saw a sincere desire to help her coupled with an intense look of want. How did this happen so quickly? she wondered. How was this man so different than any other she'd been with during the course of this hated war? Gretchen turned her head looking off to the side watching the barmaid move from table to table. She really should get up and help Inger with the orders, and yet, she remained seated lost in thoughts of the previous night spent with this man seated across from her. She couldn't decide between her pride and the wish to do the right thing. Finally, she reached for his hand, entwined her fingers with his, and smiled. "Ja, all right. I will take the money as a loan," she breathed a sigh when he smiled all the wider. Glancing down at the joined hands, she blushed like a school girl and mumbled, "I'd also like to get to know you better, Anton."

He leaned forward on his elbows, grinning like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Beautiful," he murmured as he brought her hands to his lips. The food on the table was momentarily forgotten as he stared deeply into her eyes. She returned his smile, but looked momentarily scared when she heard a throat clearing directly behind herself. Inger was grinning, too, along with Heinrich who had joined her at the table.

Heinrich said in a fatherly voice, "Gretchen, liebe, I believe we have not been introduced to your young man?"

They blushed, as if caught doing something inappropriate. "Well, Heinrich, I'll remedy that right now. Anton, this is my cook and friend, Heinrich Dorfmann. Heinrich, this is Herr Leutnant Anton Brauer. He is a-" here she paused slightly, for only a fraction of a second, "a friend of Friedrich's and mine from University. They served together in France before Friedrich's death." Bustling from the table, Gretchen got up from the table and moved to the kitchen going back to work; Heinrich flashed a look of concern for Gretchen at Anton; and Inger went quietly back to the bar. Anton, as she thought of him, went to his room for a nap.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Later in the afternoon, when the lunch shift was over, Gretchen carried a tray up to Anton's room. He had fast become her favorite visitor, perhaps her favorite visitor of all time. Pausing at the door, she knocked with one hand while the other held the tray balanced on her hip. "Anton," she said loud enough to be heard through the door, "I brought you lunch."  
>She waited for about five minutes hearing some noises coming from within the room. The doorknob turned and opened allowing her to enter the room. He stood just behind the door dressed in uniform pants and shirt only. His hair was mussed as if he'd just gotten up from a nap. "Gretchen," he said taking her tray and leading her to the table by the window, "here, sit. I'm sure you're tired." Newkirk observed that even though she was tired her eyes shined, and her smile was vibrant. He set the plates and cups on the table. She waited until he was seated across from her, and then she started eating. Soon, she was finished with her food, while he was still eating his. She blushed profusely. "I guess I was more hungry than I thought."<br>"It is very good, Gretchen. Thank you," he said wiping his mouth on the napkin. "So, tell me about yourself, please. I want to know more about you and your life."

They'd talked for most of the afternoon and into the evening. He found that she was easy to talk to and just be around without doing anything more. She seemed content to just sit on the small sofa with him occasionally holding hands and allowing him to curl an arm along the back of the sofa. She started out telling him a little about her childhood, moved into her school career, and talked briefly about how she met Friedrich. She then asked him about his childhood, was he originally from Fuchsstadt, what did he do before the army, was he married/had he been married, did he have a steady girl...these last two questions were leading questions.  
>When he was offered additional training in his already existing skill sets, the first thing the instructors drummed into the his head was that when lying for a cover, keep it as close to the familiar as possible without telling the truth. It cut down on trying to remember what he told to whom and when. So he fleshed out Anton Brauer's history by taking elements from his own childhood, his life before the military, and of course, his life in the military.<p>

Anton Brauer's father dejected and depressed that Germany had lost the first war, came home a broken man who turned to drinking. His father didn't work, drank to excess, and then was a violent drunk, often beating his wife and oldest son, although never laying a hand on the next oldest child, a sister named Marta. Often times, Father would leave for weeks and then months at a time. Over the years, he showed up repentant, which ended up with more children and more mouths to feed; these periods never lasted very long. The longest time was less than three months before Father began drinking again. All the while, Brauer's mother worked long hard days at two jobs as a cleaning woman and a seamstress before coming home to take care of nine children and the house. Brauer started out helping after school with odd jobs giving whatever he made to Mother with the admonition to keep it from the old man. As the oldest child, he felt responsible for the younger ones. Often he got them ready and off to school while their Mother got ready for her first job. He almost choked up remembering the mornings he often went without breakfast just to stretch the food for the younger ones.

Staring vacantly ahead, he went through in one of the worst days as a teenager. He had just turned fifteen and the family was celebrating with what little they'd managed to scrounge: there was even a cake this year. His Mother's daytime employer had given her something extra for the clothes she'd taken home and mended. Mother had spent it on cake, candies, and some milk. The evening had been perfect; and wouldn't it just be the case, but his old man had chosen that particular night to show his face for the first time in six months. He was drunk as usual not even pretending to be apologetic, only this time he was already a mean drunk. He had wasted no time throwing his weight around, demanding money and food. His wife, after years of abuse, quietly told him that she had no more money having spent it on the birthday cake and goodies for the birthday. Fists started flying. His sister tried to stop the melee, but she caught a slap, which had knocked her to the floor unconscious. Peter paused to regain his composure. "I just started seeing red. Everything was red. I believe that I actually landed a good punch to the old man's jaw. I do believe he was stunned. Usually, he only took out his drunk on my mother and me, so he was used to beating us and for us not fighting back. This time I actually hit him before he really let me have it. He gave me a punch in the stomach and across the chin; I landed on the floor. When I got up, he had his arm around my mother's neck ranting that he'd kill her if I didn't leave the house and never come back. I was fifteen and living on the streets of Munich..."  
>Gretchen took his hands in hers and brought them to her cheek. Her heart broke for the pain that showed so clearly at the memories of his childhood. She leaned closer and gently kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, mein liebe. Let's not dwell on the past, shall we? It's getting late, and I am famished. Dinner is winding down. Let's go downstairs and eat something, ja? You will feel better with a full stomach."<br>He followed her down the stairs and into the cafe. He sat at a table observing the room and the patrons still left. There were not a lot of men in uniform left, and certainly no black Gestapo uniforms. Newkirk sipped his beer Astrid brought to the table while Gretchen made their dinner. He continued observing the room with half an eye as he lit a cigarette and smoked it.

Bruno, the barkeep, saw the two of them enter the cafe together, and he wondered what if any connection the two of them shared as he watched Gretchen go to the kitchen and Astrid bring the man a beer. Bruno was smart enough to see something was going on with the two of them; he just wasn't sure what, so he made a mental note to keep an eye on them.

While Bruno was following Gretchen with his eyes, Newkirk was observing Bruno. Somethin about that bugger don't seem right ta me, but I jus can't put me finger on it, he thought as he lit his cigarette, taking a deep drag on it. He finished his cigarette as Gretchen arrived at the table with dinner, which they enjoyed talking about their supposed shared past whenever Astrid checked in with them. The place was clearing out and the staff was starting to clean in preparation for closing. Newkirk made up his mind earlier while Gretchen was in the kitchen preparing their repast that he was leaving very early in the morning to get back to camp. When dinner was over after they'd shared a strudel and some coffee, he escorted Gretchen to the reception desk and kissed her hand bidding her good night. He softly climbed the stairs for another long soak in the tub and the last good night sleep until his next leave.

Newkirk stowed his knives in their same places from last night, brushed out his uniform for the morning's departure, and then slipped into the hot, steaming water for a long soak. Before he could fall asleep, he drained the tub, pulled on his pajamas, and got into bed. Her pillow still smelled like her, so he held it to his chest and drifted off to sleep wrapped in her scent as memories of the previous evening flitted through his dreams.

Gretchen, meanwhile, was only slightly confused with Anton's behavior. He'd been attentive, listening to everything she told him, only holding her hand occasionally. He held her chair for her at dinner, poured her coffee for her, as well as her water. Later in the evening he escorted her to her room behind the reception desk and not attempted to gain entrance. She didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved that he had chosen to be a gentleman. She decided that he was trying to show that he respected her by treating her like the lady he had said she was, and she was profoundly glad. Although, she certainly hoped to spend more time just cuddling with him tomorrow. Gretchen paused in brushing her hair out thinking that she really did want to know this man who had suddenly become so important to her. And, it had been, as he'd said to her that morning, one of the best experiences she'd had in a long time, too, since Friedrich went away for fighting, in fact. Sighing, she dressed for bed and lay down once more in the smaller, colder bed-alone.

Bruno left the hostel after cleaning up his bar and restocking it for the afternoon shift tomorrow. He had a good description of his contact, a name-which he had to admit even to himself-was probably fake, and a possible destination for the contact. He decided to observe and report, to keep supplying information that was helpful and authentic when checked out, and then he'd decide whether or not to let his masters know about this mystery man and whether he was indeed the infamous Nimrod.  
>So, three people went to sleep that night with three different plans of action for the morrow, and only the morrow like a deity knew what it had in store for each of them.<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Light shined through the limbs of the dravf oak like silken strands through a lover's fingers and found Newkirk already up and packing up his gear in the small travel bag. He was dressed again the uniform pants, bootless and shirtless, intending to shave after he polished the boots to a spit shine. He had already had one cigarette and was lighting up the second one for the day when he heard footsteps outside his door. Picking up his pencil sharpener and keeping it handy, he went to the peephole in the door and spotted Gretchen moving from room to room leaving a paper in front of each door that held an occupant. His was the last room she visited before turning to leave for the kitchen. He watched as she hesitated and then turned around approaching his door. When he saw her turning around, he quickly moved to his uniform blouse and put his pencil sharpener in its hidden sheath in the coat. And, before she could knock, the door opened revealing a shirtless, slightly disheveled Anton wearing an amused smile. "Guten morgen, liebchen. How are you this morning?"

She was blushing at the site before her as she replied, "Guten morgen, Anton."

He motioned for her to enter the room, which she did. He closed the door behind her and almost walked into her. She'd stopped when she saw the travel bag on the floor and his uniform blouse hanging on the back of the door. "You're leaving?" she asked

"I was going to tell you at breakfast this morning. I have to get on the train and get home. This is my first leave in six months, and I'm anxious to get home," he said turning her as he slipped his arms around her waist.

"But, you still have till tonight...was it something I..." she stammered.

He bent his head and captured her lips with his. The kiss deepened, and soon they were breaking for air. "It is nothing you've done, liebe. I was planning on leaving this morning when I checked in on Friday. I want to spend more time with you; nothing would make me happier. It's just that need to get home and check on my family, and I only have so much leave time left." He let his arms hold her tighter against him, so she could feel how true his words were.

She raised her head and saw him smiling a happy grin. She blushed once more and moved her arms to encircle his neck. She kissed him again.

Lying on the bed, as close to him as she could get without being on top of him, she sighed into his chest. She was not looking forward to the coming week being alone again, she decided as she absently made circles on his stomach with her finger. Her head jostled as he laughed. "You're tickling me, liebchen," he said in-between gasping for breath.

"Really," she said as she giggled and tickled him all the more.

"So you want to play that way, eh?" He got a wicked gleam in his eyes and started tickling her back in earnest. Soon they were both gasping for air and giggling like little kids in a candy store. "Yield," he said breathlessly, "You win. I give up."

She pulled back to look at him closer and said in all seriousness, "Will I see you again, Anton?"

He closed the space between them and again claimed her lips. "Ja, you will. I promise, liebe. I will come back to you as soon as I have more leave. And, I will stay safe." He moved the strands of hair out of her face and met her eyes, "I promise."

She kissed him again and then disengaged herself from his arms. Gathering her clothes from the floor where they'd fallen earlier, she got dressed and was doing her hair into bun, while he moved from the bed and retrieved his clothes from the floor. He put on his shirt while surreptitiously buckling the arm sheath for his smaller knife onto his left forearm. Then, he came to sit by her on the bed and took the brush from her hands. "Let me," he whispered into her neck. He brushed out her long dark hair then handed her the brush. Deftly, she put it into the sensible bun he'd seen her wearing the afternoon they first met. They sat side by side for brief moment while he pulled on his combat boots. They hadn't gotten spit polished, but they were cleaner than his regular boots. He stood and put on his tie. She came to him and tied it for him. Finally, he put on his uniform blouse and weapons belt. His service luger was in the snapped holster. Finally, his cover was looped in the belt until it was needed for outside. Newkirk stooped to retrieve his travel bag, and then he followed her to the door taking mental inventory of all the items not on display: the cigarettes, the new lighter were in the bottom of his travel bag, his pencil sharpener in its place on his back between his shoulder blades, and his smaller knife in its sheath on his arm for easy reach. He followed her down the stairs to the reception desk. There he pulled out his billfold and laid out the twenty marks for the room, as well as four hundred marks leaving his billfold almost empty.

"Four hundred marks? But we agreed on two hundred marks...?"

"I don't need it, and you do. I already have my train ticket; it's round trip, so I don't have to buy another one. Mother will send food for me to eat on the return trip, so I won't need money for food. Please take the money, liebchen. I try to send more when I get back to the Front when I get paid if I can," he said sincerely.

She felt her eyes tear up as he placed the money in her hands. She didn't want him to go because she was convinced she'd never see him again. Yet, when she looked into his eyes, she saw them twinkling with not quite love, but something else. Happiness, maybe? She couldn't bring herself to speak due to the emotions roiling up inside her. She nodded her head and managed, "A loan...only. I pay you back."

"Of course, mein liebe. You pay me back when you see me again, which will be soon, I promise," he said as he stepped around the desk and hugged her to him quickly. "I must go now." A few minutes later, the hostel was noticeably quieter.

Newkirk made his way along the route to the train station looking all the while like a soldier on leave for the first time in a long time. He looked around without meeting any early bird travelers' eyes. When he'd told Gretchen he had a ticket to Fuchsstadt, he hadn't been lying. He did have a ticket; he just planned on getting off the train while it was still in the station. Once he was seated inside the open coach where other soldiers lounged waiting for the train to start, he acted like he'd suddenly was ill and moved to the restroom. On the way, the ticket collector stopped him, noticed his visible sweating and obvious nausea, punched the ticket and directed the soldier to the bathroom at the end of the train. One soldier pretty much looked like the other to him after twenty five years on the trains, so this particular one was not noticed when he didn't return to the car, and made sure he was not seen as he cautiously exited the train right before it took off. He made it to the woods close to the train tracks and from there back tracked to the road leading out of Hammelberg and back home to Stalag 13 and his family.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Hogan's Heroes and I am not making any kind of profit from this story. Any characters not associated with that wonderful television series are my creation and copyrighted to me: Gretchen Hoffman, Heinrich Dorfmann, Bruno Reiger, Inger, Astrid, and Major Albrecht von Stimmel. I have played a little bit with the timelines and dates but have tried to keep things within months and during the same year. This is fiction, after all.

Author's Note: I have decided that the man who wants to defect is an aide to a real, but deceased German General from the General Staff. The Wikipedia entry is footnoted at the end of this chapter.

Chapter 11

Col. Robert Hogan hadn't thought too much on the role his Englishman played in keeping up morale and relieving the tension that could build with fourteen men living in close quarters until he was forced to spend an entire two days with the man. The corporal's presence was sorely missed as the colonel heard a couple of the guys grouse about losing in cards to Carter for umpteenth time today...to Carter, of all people. Obviously, the technical sergeant had been paying a great deal of attention to his bunkmate when he'd taught the younger man poker and the finer art of card sharking. No one would mistake the seemingly innocent young man for being a card sharp, so he'd cleaned up this afternoon while playing some guys from Barrake 9 for toothpicks. What Carter was going to do with all of those toothpicks, Col. Hogan had no idea.

The colonel was in his office going over some everyday paperwork and trying to come think of a plan to get their defector out of Berlin. The only angle he'd come up with in the last two days was the one he thought up in the common room before Newkirk had departed for his R&R: contacting Maj. Teppel, something that was very risky right now for both the major and for them. They'd have to get London's permission to bring Teppel into the act. Hogan unconsciously tapped his pencil in a rhythm while he thought of a plan of action until there was a knock on his door.

"Come," he said above the tapping, replacing the pencil with his fingers.

Kinch poked his head through the door and announced, "Newkirk is back and we have word from London. Pretty much everyone is down in the tunnel. You want we should come up here, sir?'

Grabbing his crush cap as he headed for the door, Hogan said, "So the prodigal has returned." Glancing at his watch, his eyes raised in surprise, "He even made it back with two hours to spare..." he said impressed the English corporal had kept his word. "Let's go see how his weekend went, and of course, see what else London wants." Hogan headed to the bunk that served as access to the maze of tunnels beneath the camp. Kinch followed along behind anxious to hear how Newkirk's weekend went.

Down in the tunnels, Newkirk was changing back into his RAF blues. He'd palmed the cigarettes and lighter for later perusal when everyone wasn't hovering around him like gossiping chickens going after the latest worm. "'old, 'old, me old son, then I'll tell ya about me weekend. Let me get dressed, alright?" he spoke above the din of LeBeau and Carter who were both peppering him with details-LeBeau about the pretty girls and Carter about the food and bed quality.

Slipping into his uniform jacket and making sure his pencil sharpener was in its comfortable, familiar sheath, he lit a cigarette and puffed a couple of times waiting for them to calm down. All three turned in the direction of the ladder which led from topside as first Col. Hogan descended followed by Kinch. These two men stopped just shy of Carter and LeBeau who were closer to Newkirk.

"So, you're back. Good man. Two hours to spare," Col. Hogan said clapping Newkirk on the shoulder.

"Did you doubt me, Guv'nor?" Newkirk asked with a slight grin.

"Not at all, Newkirk, not at all. Just glad you didn't wait til the last minute. So, Kinch, what does London have to say now that we're all here?" he said turning to Kinch and giving the trusted second-in-command his full attention.

"Come on, sir, we want to hear about the pretty girls..."LeBeau began.

"Afterwards. Right now, business. Go on, Kinch," the Colonel said firmly leaning against the sturdy support.

The men made themselves comfortable either following Hogan's example by leaning against various walls or like Carter, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Kinch hated being the center of attention at times like these, but he swallowed down his nerves and said, "London says the time-table for the extraction of the defector has just become top priority. They have another little job included in this one; one that will make our part of it a little easier. It seems that London's found out that the Abwehr is on shaky ground now with the assassination plot against Hitler coming a year after the Solf Circle affair. They want us to get Teppel out of Germany, too, before anything happens to him. He's too dangerous to fall into enemy hands with all that he knows about the Allies, our contacts in Germany, and us here at Paradise Villa. He has the job of arranging for the defector, a major who is adjutant to the chief of the Oberkommando des Heeres, General Kurt Zietzler who just had a nervous breakdown and has been replaced by General Adolf Heusinger. The major's name is Albrecht von Stimmel. He wants to defect because he's not sure what the situation will be like with this new general in charge, and he's decided he likes his life more than his honor," Kinch finished up and sipped his coffee.

"Well, I guess London answered my request before I could make it about using Teppel. Looks like Morrison'll be going home finally; so, are they going to contact him and let him know about us helping or do we contact him via the Underground?" the colonel asked chewing his bottom lip in thought.

"London says that he's aware of us assisting because he's the one who made the request and the initial contact with von Stimmel. They'll rendezvous at the hotel in town, taking two separate rooms. We're to get in touch with them there and then bring them here by whatever means necessary."

"Seems simpler than we first thought, huh, Colonel?" Andrew ventured.

"I don't like it, sir. Seems almost too bleedin easy if ya ask me," Newkirk piped up.

"It'd make a nice change, mon amis, non?" LeBeau said eager to get onto the really important part of the conversation: girls, even if it was not firsthand experience this time.

"Lemme think on it," the Colonel said eyeing the small Frenchman's nervous energy. Switching his gaze from Kinch to Newkirk, "So, Newkirk, how was your weekend?"

Kinch was content to let the Cockney take center stage now that the important information was out there in the open. It was time for the entertainment portion of the evening. "Keep in mind we have roll call in about an hour and half, so only the details, Newkirk, my man."

Newkirk had long ago finished his cigarette from previously, so he lit another one and took a drag before giving them his attention. "What's there ta tell? I went ta town, checked into that inn that Louis raved about, 'ad some nice food, some good beer, a good bed, and hot water..." he began teasingly.

"Come on, mon pote! The girls-the GIRLS..." LeBeau started with Carter and Kinch adding their voices.

"Be nice, Peter," Col. Hogan said, "quit teasing. We don't have all night."

"Well, Guv'nor, I went to the place and it was nice. Kinda outta the way an off the main road. I took a looksee around the place before going in and I think it might make a good meetin place if the Hauserhauff or the Haufbrau are too crowded. The time I was there; it never got too busy. Just busy enough, if ya know what I mean," Newkirk said in all seriousness.

Hogan pushed his cap to the back of his head. This was the last thing he expected to get from Newkirk, at least not before the girls...it almost seemed as if he was stalling in telling them about his amorous escapades for some reason...Oh, no...he couldn't have..."OK, Newkirk, what did you do?" Hogan began in his strictest command voice.

Newkirk scowled. "Done, sir? Nothing. Why?"

"You're hesitating about the girls...why?"

Newkirk blushed slightly remembering the moments with Gretchen and found suddenly that they were something he wanted to keep to himself, at least for now. Damn, I gotta make summat up, he thought to himself, or the Guv'nor'll never let me outta camp again. "I just thought I'd fill you in on me observations first, Guv. I didn't do anything stupid, sir. Honest. I wouldn't do that again." He took another deep drag on the fag and breathed out the smoke from his nose like a dragon billowing smoke. He had to admit that he slightly irked for a moment. "I told ya I learned me lesson, sir, an I did."

Col. Hogan was a master at reading people as well as manipulating them. He respected his men. He relaxed his posture and lowered the tension. "Ok, so tell us about the pretty girls," he offered by way of apology.

Newkirk saw the twinkle in his commanding officer's eye and nodded slightly. "There were these three birds..." he started. He should have been a writer for the fantastical tale he invented...things that made Carter's eyes bulge and had him blushing long after the story was over and done.

"I think I need a cigarette," LeBeau mumbled as he made his way up the ladder topside.

"I think I need one, too, and a cold shower," Carter said, still blinking his eyes furiously.

"Holy Cats," was all Kinch could come up with as he also made his way up the ladder.

Col. Hogan grinned from ear-to-ear, clapped Newkirk on the shoulder, and said proudly, "That's my boy." He made his way up the ladder leaving Newkirk alone down in the tunnel with half an hour before roll call.

Newkirk took advantage of the silence of the tunnels to finally go through the cigarette package and stripped the lighter. He wasn't disappointed when he found two strips of microfilm. Troop numbers along the Italian defense, troop movements along the Eastern Front and numbers, possible defensive positions of troops inside Germany should the Allies breach the Siegfried Line this year...he whistled at the information. Nice stuff, this. This can go out with Teppel, he thought as he secreted the films in a fedora for now. After all, I'll be the one outfittin the Majors for their trip to London, he thought as he moved to the radio. Dialing the appropriate frequency, he placed a call to his contact in London.

"Nebuchadnezzar? Come in, over?" his voice became deeper with a slight German accent.

There was static.

"Nebuchadnezzar? Come in, over?"

Static again.

"Nebuchadnezzar? Come in."

A crackle and then, "Nebuchadnezzar, here. We thought we'd lost you, old chap. Over."

"Nein. Needed breathing space. Over."

"Well, that's smashing. You have something? Over."

"Ja. A picture show you should take in in two-three days' time. Will arrive in your neighborhood in by usual delivery method. Over."

"Jolly good, old chap. Good to have you back. Over."

"It's good to be back. Over and out," he said as he powered down the radio and readjusted it to Papa Bear's regular frequency. Newkirk made his way up the ladder and back to life at Stalag 13. A life which was about to get a whole lot more complicated in the next week or so. How complicated, only Fate knew, and She was not sharing.

.org/wiki/Abwehr for information about the Abwehr.

.org/wiki/German_general_staff#Chiefs_of_Staff_of_the_Army_High_Command_.28OKH.29_.281933.E2.80.931945.29 information on the German General Staff during WWII


	12. Chapter 12

_Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Hogan's Heroes; the characters and show are the property of Bing Crosby Productions and CBS. No characters were hurt in the making of this story, and all were fed and well-treated while borrowing them… All other characters besides them are property of the author: Gretchen Hoffman, Inger, Astrid, Heinrich Dorfmann, Bruno Reiger, and Major von Stimmel._

_Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Jennaya, who pointed out to me that there are a slew of International readers who may not be familiar with military abbreviations, so I've stopped that. And it's also dedicated to AllTrekkedUp, thanks for the many, wonderful reviews. Glad you enjoy the story._

Chapter 12

All the guys topside were settling into a lazy, after Mess between lights-out routine, which included getting ready for bed. Newkirk was not the least bit tired after all the excitement of arriving back in camp safely and finally getting the microfilm to safety, so after the evening roll call and what passed for dinner at Mess, he decided to go back down to the tunnels and mend some of the uniforms. While he was sewing he reminisced about his time with Gretchen, he didn't notice someone standing over him and saying something until he pricked his finger with the needle.

"Bloody 'ell!" he griped as he automatically put his finger in his mouth. "Look what ya made me do..." he looked up at Colonel Hogan standing over him. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear you come down, sir."

"That's obvious since I have been asking you the same question for the last five minutes. Ya had a faraway look on your face; wanna tell me about it?" Hogan said as he sat on the cot across from Newkirk.

"Nothing really to tell, sir. Just thinking about those lovely frauleins is all," he blushed and quickly looked down to his sewing.

Hogan didn't push his corporal to tell him what was going on, but something was definitely going on. He hadn't seen Newkirk this jumpy since he brought Gretel up through the tunnel section, so, knowing his men as well as he did and knowing Newkirk as well as he did, he decided the issue had to do with women.

"So," Hogan said offering a now cold cup of coffee, "want some coffee? Looks like you could use it."

Newkirk accepted the cup, all the while wishing it was a nice strong cuppa and longing for a biscuit that didn't taste like brick, and drained the contents with a grimace. Coffee was not to be wasted, even if it was cold and mostly chicory.

"Thanks, sir." He waited for the colonel to leave, but after a few minutes of them sitting in companionable silence, he asked, "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

Hogan decided to broach the subject. It was niggling at the back of his mind like an itch one can't quite reach. "There were no three girls, were there?" He leaned back against the wall settling in and letting Newkirk he wasn't leaving without an explanation.

Newkirk put down his sewing kit, picked up his fags, and lit one for each of them. Hogan didn't smoke regularly, but he accepted the cigarette and puffed it lightly waiting for the storyteller to get comfortable.

"There were three girls, sir...honestly, there was; just I didn't meet them, sir..."

"Stop it, ok?"

Newkirk looked confused, wondering what he'd done now to torque his commanding officer off this time. "Stop what, sir?"

"That...that...'sir' stuff. You've been doing it since I came down here. And, you were mighty professional about your assessment of the inn and troop movements. It's like you're trying to prove yourself, Peter."

"Cor," he swore softly under his breath; he'd let himself slip again. This was getting a might bit dangerous. Maybe I should just tell 'im the truth and damn me orders. This is Papa Bear, after all. Blimey, I can feel it in me bones that I'll need ta make a decision on this sooner or later...he thought pessimistically.

Meanwhile, Hogan sat there and watched the internal debate take place. There was more to this man than met the eye. He knew his corporal was a very private man about some things, and he respected that in Newkirk. It was something they both shared, but for different reasons. "Newkirk, I know you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the Operation and our mission. I believe you. I also know that you have a soft heart for women. They are wonderful, mysterious creatures who are total contradictions, but sometimes, Peter, you strike out."

"Guv'nor," he forced himself back into his comfortable skin, "I know about women...after all, I'm not Carter. I 'ave more names of birds-French and English-in me li'l black book than LeBeau does, I do. I messed up once...okay, twice, admit, but it's like ridin a 'orse, if ya fall off, get back on til you go your rhythm. It's fine, sir." He looked his commanding officer full on and smiled a cocky grin, "I promise I'll do ya proud next time, Guv'nor."

"Ok...good. I'm glad we had this talk."

"Me, too, guv. I feel a lot better now."

Hogan turned to go back topside when Newkirk stopped him with a "Guv'nor?"

"Yeah, Peter?"

"Promise you won't tell the guys, please. They needed this, they did." Newkirk smiled and finished, "after all, I do 'ave me reputation ta uphold, ya know?"

Hogan belly laughed and said, "Sure thing, Newirk, sure thing. It was a really great story...you may have a future ahead of you as a writer with an imagination like that."

It was completely silent for about an hour until Kinch came down to man the radio for the evening. He was a normally quiet, reserved man who took things in stride. He didn't smoke as a rule or overindulge in anything really. He liked to live by the axiom of one of his favorite writer/philosophers, Socrates who wrote or said "Everything in moderation. Nothing in excess." So when the guys saw him smoking not one, but two cigarettes, naturally, they were curious. They didn't ask any questions because he had a stare that could stop a half ton in its tracks.

On evenings like this one had turned out to be, he was glad for the relative peace of manning the radio. The cool of the evening and the tunnels made for a comfortable quiet that settled on him like a well-worn blanket. Part of him knew or suspected rather strongly that Newkirk was putting the shine on them, as his Grandma used to say in her lazy, thick New Orleans accent. He just never pictured his friend doing things like that; of course, if he had, then he'd worry about himself a lot more than he did when he occasionally talked to himself.

"Shit," he mumbled to himself, "I really need to get out more..."

He grinned to himself, "It may have been a load of crap, but damn, that man can sure spin a yarn..." and laughing, he pulled another cigarette from his jacket pocket.

LeBeau didn't know whether he should be worried or jealous over Newkirk's weekend. He looked over at his English friend currently playing cards with Andre. No matter how good Andre got at poker, Newkirk could always win, sometimes without even cheating. He smiled slyly and stirred his soap. Louis loved the Amour, he loved girls, and he loved cooking. Sometimes not necessarily in that order, but those three things ruled his existence. In Amour, he included Love of France, family, and friends, so he was glad that his friend was more relaxed. After the weekend he'd had, it was no wonder Newkirk was relaxed. Mon Dieu, I'm surprised he's still breathing, LeBeau thought to himself as his mind supplied images of the girls and other things...The pot was boiling over and starting to smell; luckily he resumed stirring again before anyone could notice his lapse in concentration. Merde, now I need another cigarette, he groused to himself.

Stepping away from the stove, he reached down over Andre's shoulder and grabbed the pack of smokes lying on the table next to the demolition man's elbow. "Help yourself," was all Andre said as he folded that hand and gave Louis a light.

"Merci, mon ami," LeBeau mumbled going back to the stove.

Carter was freshly fed, freshly shaved, and freshly showered. He'd snuck into the showers in the guest quarters of Klink's building and showered to avoid gaining unwanted attention from the guards. Good thing that ole Klink was still in his office buried in paperwork, he thought as he picked up the recent hand dealt by the man he considered his best friend.

Carter'd be the first to admit that he wasn't the most experienced man in the camp; heck, he was still a virgin. He and Mary Jane had decided to wait until he got home from the war to get married, and when she sent him that Dear John letters, his prospects, despite meeting Maddy, were virtually nil. It was just the way he was raised, so when Newkirk weaved his lurid tale, it had felt like Carter's ears were burning, and he just knew that his face had been a florid red from blushing. Holy cats, he thought, I didn't even know some of that was possible...his mind automatically trying to figure out the configurations for some of that..."Damn," he said under his breath...

"You ok, Andrew?" Newkirk asked when he heard Carter mutter a swear word under his breath. Carter never swore-ever. He put his cards down and observed LeBeau at the stove and Carter sitting across the table. Both were blushing furiously and smoking like he did...he raised his eyebrows and grimaced. Maybe I overdid a wee bit with the tale, he thought glumly. "Carter, it's your turn."

Carter snapped out of it, blinking furiously, and lit another cigarette, "Oh, sure, Peter. I'm fine. I guess I just need some sleep is all. I fold."

He got up from the table, moved to his lower bunk, and picked up his book he'd been reading. Maybe I'll write Mary Jane, he thought longingly.

Newkirk hopped up onto the top bunk and groaned with disappointment. Blimey, I forget 'ow lumpy this mattress is, he sighed to himself. I'll never fall asleep now; 'ow many times 'as the colonel drilled it inta our 'eads about overdoin' things. I just 'ope I 'aven't permanently scarred poor Andrew, he thought worriedly.

However, he did fall asleep sooner than he thought with the sounds of the barracks lulling him into the Land of Nod. He didn't even "RAUS" when Schultzie came in with the announcement of "Lights Out! Lights Out! Oh, the Englander is back...that is good-what am I saying? I know nothing-nothing. Lights out!"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Five in the morning came too early for the occupants of Barrake 2. LeBeau was the first up as usual. He felt like mush as he got out of his bunk and splashed cold water over his face. The morning was crisp and cool, with a touch of the winter weather that would soon strike like Nature's blitzkrieg later in the coming months. The first thing the diminutive Frenchman did after taking care of the morning necessities was start the coffee. He had a feeling that everyone was going to need it extra strong if they'd slept as badly as he had. He had smoked too much and had too much coffee, so now his stomach was letting him know it didn't appreciate the abuse. How Newkirk could smoke like a chimney and still be physically active-LeBeau stopped himself from completing that thought. Instead, he clanged a pot especially loudly right near Newkirk's head just for spite.

"Oi! Whaat was that for?" Newkirk growled bolting upright in the bunk, making more noise and waking Andrew.

"I didn't sleep well last night, and it's all your fault! That's why," LeBeau grumbled going back to the stove.

"Oi, 'ow did I keep ya from sleepin' last night?" Newkirk grumbled back at the Frenchman. "What did I do? Snore too loud?" Remaining on the top bunk in his nightshirt, he stretched and yawned mightily.

"Your little R&R escapade, mon pote. Did you have to be so...détaillé...detailed?" LeBeau groused as he put the coffee pot on the stove top.

"Yeah," Carter said as he got up from the bunk he shared with Newkirk. "It was kinda...detailed..."

Newkirk rubbed his hands over his eyes, then down his to his chin. "Lemme git this straight. You lot are blamin' me for your lacka sleep?" He hopped down from the top bunk and made his way to the sink, and then splashing cold water on his face, he turned back to his mates and said, "Lemme know if I'm wrong, but wasn't you two who wanted ta know about me weekend?" He grabbed his great coat, his cover, and slipped on his boots.

"Where ya goin' like that, Newkirk?" Carter muttered.

"Latrine, where the bloody 'ell else?" the irate Englishman growled out.

While Newkirk made himself scarce, the noise of the common room's occupants had woken Colonel Hogan up earlier than usual. LeBeau usually brought him his first cup of coffee in the morning before everyone else was awake, so when he stepped out of his room and found everyone else slowly moving about getting ready for roll call, he automatically glanced at his command crew assessing each one individually. He noted LeBeau was looking more tired than usual as he began preparations for the morning oatmeal. The coffee cup appeared in his hand as if by magic, and he thanked the Frenchman. It might be ersatz, but it would have to do. He glanced at Carter sitting quietly on the bench next to the table. Kinch was nowhere to be seen, which meant that he had camped out down in the tunnels. "Carter, go down to the tunnels and get Kinch up here for roll call."

Carter yawned mightily and moved slower than usual to the bunk that served as the access point to the tunnels under Barrake 2. Tapping the top bunk and activating the lever, the bunk raised allowing Carter to climb down to the tunnels. Five minutes later, the bunk was closed and Kinch and Carter were both back at the table. The door opened admitting Newkirk back inside. Silently, almost sullenly, the Englishman dressed in his uniform. "Blimey!" he snarled loudly.

"What is it, Newkirk?" Col. Hogan asked already aware of tension in the room among the four.

Newkirk raised his arm showing him the rip in the seam of his uniform jacket. "I have to sew me blouse again. It be right nice if London could send us some new uniforms, sir. Me old un just about had it, it has. And, boots, sir; I 'ave ta use me letter from 'ome to line me boots now." He took his uniform blouse off and quickly, efficiently mended it during the silence following his blow out.

Deciding he'd handle the situation after roll call, Colonel Hogan made sure everyone already had one cup of coffee in them before Schultz came in yelling, "Raus! Raus! Roll call! Everybody Raus!" Schultz shouted until he noticed all the men up and most of them completely dressed. "Colonel Hogan, you're all up already..." he paused suspicion written all over his face, "you have been up to monkey business...Hmmmm?"

"Just couldn't sleep is all, Schultzie," Carter said offering the big sergeant a chipped mug of coffee.

Taking it automatically, "Danke," he said as he sipped it quickly. "It is getting chilly out. Danke schoen, Carter." He stepped back to the door and said, "Roll call, boys. Kommt ein Jeder. Gehen wir …" as he made his way out of the barracks and back into the first bite of the colder weather.

Again, the great coat draped his shoulders as he placed his cover on his head taking his place next to the colonel in formation. Newkirk blew hot air into his hands trying to keep his hands warm. Bouncing on his heels trying to stay warm as Schultz began the count. He turned and swiveled his head observing the dark circles around Carter's eyes and the bags under LeBeau's. It really irked him that his mates blamed him for their foul moods. He stomped his feet and blew in his hands again. I can't wait til this whole bloomin thing is over with; I never want ta spend another winter in Germany again. Ever, he thought to himself. Beside him Col. Hogan was scanning the horizon trying to keep his patience intact waiting for Schultz to complete his counting. The men were quieter than usual, so there were no witty remarks and no messing with Schultz. Only the sound of stomping boots was heard under the sound of fourteen people breathing.

"Zehn, elf, zwölf, dreizehn und vierzehn." Sgt. Hans Schultz smiled widely with undisguised delight. All of his boys were there this morning. There were no unpleasant surprises to interfere with his digestion of breakfast. He turned to salute the Big Shot and give him the report. " All present and account for Herr Kommandant."

Col. Wilhelm Klink was just coming from the Kommandantur and had just started his "Reeepooo-" when Schultz interrupted him. The fat sergeant had a happy grin on his face at the news. "Don't interrupt me, Dummkopf!" The German colonel pulled his coat tighter around his body, tucking his riding crop closer to his body under his right arm. To the men, both Col. Hogan's and his own guards, he reminded them of a grey, quivering chicken instead of the Iron Eagle he pictured himself as being. He noticed the men were unusually subdued this morning, but he chose to chalk it up to his strict discipline and forceful personality.

Col. Hogan prayed silently that the Old Bald Eagle wasn't going to make any speeches this morning. Things were already tense, and he wanted to take care of it before everything got blown out of proportion. When Klink started back for his offices without saying anything, Hogan almost cheered. Schultz dismissed the men to get ready for breakfast, and more quickly than they'd fallen out for roll call, they moved back inside.

Newkirk moved to the tunnel entrance without even glancing back until the Colonel called him to his office, along with Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau. As Carter and LeBeau settled on the lower bunk, Kinch at the desk, and Newkirk leaning against the window frame, Hogan looked at each one in the eye. "Ok, men, anyone care to tell me why the tension's so thick you could cut it with a knife?" Again, he met each man's gaze squarely.

LeBeau flushed with embarrassment and ducked his head, "I guess it my fault, mon colonel. I didn't sleep well last night, so I blamed Pierre. I'm sorry, mon ami."

Newkirk scratched the back of his head and sighed, "It's my fault, too, Louie. I made the story up because really there wasn't anythin' ta tell, and when I told ya the truth, you all thought I was 'olding out on ya. So, I made up a yarn about the three birds an' all."

Kinch looked over at Newkirk in amusement, "You mean, you didn't meet any girls? at all? Man, no wonder you made up that story..."

Newkirk almost said something he was sure he didn't want to share just now, so he kept his mouth clamped around the morning's first cigarette and puffed. LeBeau smiled and then started laughing loudly. Carter, meanwhile, looked at Newkirk in astonishment. "You mean you struck out? But, but, but, I thought you hardly ever struck out..." This only made LeBeau and Kinch laugh all the harder, and pretty soon everyone, including Peter, was having a good laugh. The team was on the same page again.

Colonel Hogan, laughing a little more quietly, drank in the site of his command crew's interaction. They were a team, but more than that. They faced suicide missions everyday with an aplumb that continued to astound him for all that these men were volunteers and noncoms who operated like some of the best officers he'd ever worked with. Hogan wanted to make sure they all survived this war, so that his men would get what he thought they deserved: Freedom and, if he had anything to say about it, opportunities.

The guys had calmed down somewhat and looking to Hogan for direction headed back out to the common room to prepare for breakfast in the Mess. The rations were scarcer and the supplemental meals that LeBeau prepared were getting smaller. This was a big concern for the colonel, as well as his men. It meant the war was going badly for the Germans and that supplies would more than likely continue to get smaller. As they sat back down and warmed by the stove, Kinch made his way down to the tunnels before breakfast. He had taken to monitoring the radio as much as he could lately wait for word from Major Teppel. About an hour after roll all and fifteen minutes before chow, he came back up from the tunnels with a message from London.

"Message from London, Colonel. It's marked urgent," Kinch said breathlessly as he handed over the message of blue paper.

Hogan took it from his second in command's hand and quickly glanced over it. Silence descended over the four as they read his reaction as he read the communique, with one already knowing the contents. Hogan chewed his bottom lip and reread the message for the second time.

"Well, Guv'nor, what's it say?" Newkirk asked breaking the silence.

"After breakfast. When we have more time," was the terse reply as he made his way to the Mess Hall for a breakfast of soupy gruel and more chicory laced coffee.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The men hurried through breakfast mainly because there was hardly anything to the gruel and black bread that was their first meal of the day. It was at times like these that the men were especially thankful for LeBeau and all his efforts to make sure they had supplementary meals. Even those were getting leaner, but most of the men chose to see this as sign the Allies were winning the war, and they could finally go home.

Back inside the barracks, the men began their morning routines of going on work parties around the camp to clean up, to exercises, and to various other activities organized by Col. Hogan to keep them focused and not depressed. The core team members moved through the door of Col. Hogan's office, with the men taking their customary places. Col. Hogan moved to his desk, took a seat, and pulled out the folded blue piece of paper. Eyes were first on Kinch, and then switched to Col. Hogan, with neither of them giving anything away.

Newkirk sighed loudly, lit up his second fag of the evening, and then finally broke the silence. "So, are we goin' ta be let in on the secret message, or what, Guv?"

Hogan scratched his chin and said, "Yeah, ok, here's what's up. It seems that our, for want of a better word, contact thinks he's being followed. He got in touch with the man who first let us know about him. Anyway, our man thinks he's being watched and wants to get out of Berlin as quickly as possible. London wants us to get in touch with Morrison and come up with a plan to get them both out of Germany as quickly as possible."

Newkirk's mind was already working on possible scenarios for the problem. Then, he remembered he was one of the core crew, not the problem solver of this bunch unless suggestions were solicited. So, he sat back on the bottom cot, lit another fag, and sucked in the smoke deeply. The nicotine hit was instantaneous. He watched as Col. Hogan wrapped his arms around his chest the way he usually did when thinking. He briefly wondered what tells he unconsciously showed when his mind was similarly occupied. He hoped there weren't a lot of them.

"Ok, Kinch, get on the radio and send a brief-and I mean very brief message to Teppel. Tell him that rendezvous at the bar on the Konigsalle; he'll know which one at say 10:00PM. That should give us enough time to make to Dusseldorf."

"As long as ole Klink decides not to do a surprise barracks inspection..." Newkirk muttered under his breath.

"Thank you, Little Miss Sunshine."

"Always 'appy to oblige, Guv," Newkirk quipped back with a smirk.

"Should I let the guard at the motor pool know about the need for transportation, sir?" Kinch piped in diverting the conversation back to the topic at hand.

"Sure, let him know, and try and get him down on his prices...there is a war on, ya know," Col. Hogan said with a smirk of his own. "Newkirk, we're going to need some uniforms, not too showy, but something to blend in with the bar. Wehrmacht...a major, a lieutenant, a corporal, and a private should work; I'll be the major, Carter, you're the lieutenant, Newkirk, the corporal, and LeBeau'll be the private. Get to work on the uniforms and the papers in case anyone-I can't imagine anyone asking for them." He ended his orders with a smile.

Everyone broke out of the huddle and went about their daily routine. Newkirk and Carter went to physical fitness, LeBeau went to the work party for cleaning the camp, and Kinch went back down into the tunnels to go about his errands. Col. Hogan went back into his office after getting a second cup of coffee and to work on his daily paperwork. Tonight, they'd face danger but he was proud of his men the way they carried on with their daily routines.

The day passed with little or no interruption to the said routine of the camp. Throughout the day, Kinch and Baker took turns manning the radio. Baker showed a lot of promise as one of the backup members of the secondary team. Meanwhile, LeBeau set about making lunch for the command crew and the rest of Barrake 2 since Klink had eliminated lunch from the day's activities in order to cut costs and ration the supplies. Both Hogan and LeBeau knew that rationing was only getting worse the longer the war dragged on for Germany. Kinch, meanwhile, came in from returning from the motor pool where he'd spent the morning after making radio contact washing the Kommandant's staff car, the one with good seats, which was also the one they'd be taking in the evening. He bypassed LeBeau and went to the office, knocking before entering.

"The motor pool guard said no go about the price reduction, but the good news is he didn't raise it again-yet," Kinch said as he stopped next to the desk.

"Well, I guess that's something. Is the staff car ready for tonight?" Hogan asked already knowing the answer.

"Sure is; I even managed the one with the good seats," Kinch said with a wide smile.

"Good, good," the colonel replied gathering up his crush cap and jacket. He followed Kinch out into the common room, and then he went down into the tunnels to check on Newkirk.

Newkirk was putting the finishing touches on the uniforms for tonight just as Colonel Hogan walked into his branch of the vast tunnel network. His branch because it house the uniforms and some of his supplies for forging documents, so he could cut down on the time it took to get to the printing room. "Guv'nor, I just finished the uniforms. I thought I'd break for lunch, and then get on the documents." He kept his hands busy straightening his sewing supplies.

"That's great. Thanks," Colonel Hogan lingered a minute to watch the Englishman straighten his area. When he'd finished straightening, he looked up at the colonel in askance. Hogan shook his head and walked to the tunnel entrance.

Newkirk sighed in relief and then followed his commander up the ladder and to lunch. During lunch, surrounded by the banter of the fellas, he let his mind wander back to his weekend with the warm, soft bed, the long soaks in the tub, and of course, wrapped in the arms of Gretchen-her smile, her laughter, and her passion.

Col. Hogan finished his lunch and observed his men as they ate. The men were trading barbs and witty comebacks; that is all except for Newkirk who was unnervingly quiet, his lunch hardly touched. "So, huh, Newkirk, whatcha thinking about, buddy?" Carter asked, also noticing the unusual silence from him during lunch. "Must be pretty good from the smile on your face," he said finishing up his lunch.

Newkirk shook himself from his reverie only to find most everyone at the table staring at him. "W'at? Can't a guy daydream about a nice bird withou' everyone goin' on?"

LeBeau, always the first to pipe up about girls, asked, "So who is it this time?"

"Rita, the fan dancer," Newkirk lied easily. In truth, he hadn't heard from her in so long he was sure she 'ad a bloke on the side. He was amazed at how much he wanted to keep this assignation with Gretchen secret. Usually, he was the first, or as close to thereabouts, bragging about his prowess with the female of the species. This time, he wanted to keep her to himself, all to himself. So, he said with a grin, "A man can daydream, can't he?"

"Just as long as you don't share 'em with us again, buddy," Carter muttered, still remembering the tale from the other night.

Newkirk laughed deep in his throat as he remembered Carter's face during the telling. It'd definitely been worth it. Lunch was over with that, and then men went back to whatever activities they had scheduled for the day, with the command crew going about their preparations for the coming trip.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Between the time Anton left to the day after, Gretchen thought of him quite frequently, so quickly had he come into her life and taken up residence. At odd times during the passing two days, she found herself thinking of his eyes, more than anything else well almost anything else.

She was standing at the kitchen door discussing the list of supplies that she thought they needed for the coming week. Heinrich, being the verbose individual he was, gave her long-involved answers and told stories to accompany almost every item. Many times during the mostly one-sided conversation, she let her mind go back over the two days with Anton, remembering a wink, a smile, a touch... She blushed, smiled, and then brought her attention back to the conversation thinking no one had observed her so closely.

However, this was not the case; Bruno had been observing Gretchen closely and more intensely especially since he'd found out that Herr Brauer had left before he'd come on shift that Sunday. Rieger was more than a little curious about his contact for more than obvious reasons. Gretchen had been happier these last two days-more so than she'd been in the six months of his employment. It angered him that she'd allowed herself to be used by this complete stranger, and more importantly, it wounded his pride that she'd chosen that man over him, even though he'd never made known his attraction for her. On the outside, he was calmly wiping down the bar with polish, but on the inside, he was raging as he watched her standing at the kitchen door talking to Heinrich about the supplies. There is another one that bears watching, he thought to himself. Bruno knew for a fact that the reason the menu's items were more plentiful here, despite times being leaner for a lot of places, was due to Heinrich's under-the-table dealings with the local blackmarketeers. This little tidbit of information hadn't been reported to his superiors yet again for personal reasons; reasons that had little to do with duty and more to do with having something to hold over Gretchen.

He observed Heinrich moving back into the kitchen presumably to get his coat and hat for the upcoming supply run. Gretchen moved to the cafe area to check on Inger and to help with getting the area ready for the regular lunch crowd. From the bar, Bruno watched the two women set the tables, sweep the floor, and make sure the napkins and silverware were straightened and gleaming with readiness. He appreciated the view of the two very different women, again, favoring Gretchen over Inger's more slightly built frame. He brought his eyes back to the bar's surface just as Gretchen caught him watching her. He turned his back and checked his bottles, glasses, and kegs for readiness for lunch.

Gretchen had been cleaning the last of the silverware when she felt like someone had stepped on her grave. Her head snapped up, she turned, and she locked eyes with Bruno, who quickly looked away. She clucked her tongue in irritation and went back to what she was doing. While her hands stayed busy, her mind roamed. She looked again at Bruno and thought to herself, what an odd man he is; he is so quiet and never socializes with the staff. I wonder what is going on in that head of his. Sighing softly to herself, she finished up with the silverware just in time to observe Heinrich coming inside to get Bruno to help him unload the supplies. She hadn't even seen Heinrich leave. I need to get my head out of the clouds, she tutted to herself as she moved to the kitchen.

Heinrich was organizing the purchases, which were more than she originally planned. He saw Gretchen poking through the purchases and said, "Liebchen, you wouldn't believe the deal I got on these! It seems the grocer was in a very good mood this morning!"

Granted there were fewer meats, but the amount of vegetables more than made up for the lack. After Bruno brought in the last load and placed it near the refrigerator, he glanced at Gretchen and quickly left. She didn't even notice because she was busy unpacking and putting away cold stuffs. Heinrich did notice, and he made note of it. Gretchen was just beginning to come alive again, and she didn't need any more trouble than she already had. He would do anything he could to prevent her any more heartache, and despite only knowing him for six months, Heinrich didn't trust Bruno. There was just something about the man that bothered Heinrich. He silently made another vow to cut down on the food supplies in future purchases.

The rest of the day passed rather quickly with diners eating, and then the late afternoon crowd coming in for both dinners and for drinks before and after changing shifts. Gretchen surveyed the crowds' comings and goings with half a mind occupied in the present. For what seemed like the eleventh time that day, her mind turned back to Anton. She smiled to herself, her face softening again as she remembered the care and attention he'd lavished on her when they were together. The last time she'd been cared for like that was the night before her husband left for the fighting. Shaking herself mentally, she moved from behind the reception desk going towards the cafe. She noticed that uniformed men were also starting to outnumber the civilians here, too. From the corner of her eye, she spotted two black uniforms-Gestapo. She paled at the sight of the two officers huddled at a table sitting closely and in deep discussion.

As if seeing them in her former home was an everyday occurrence, she continued into the room and passed their table to the kitchen. Heinrich was busily cooking and humming to himself all the while. He looked up and spotted Gretchen coming. "Liebchen! I am glad you are here! We are very busy tonight! Come; help me while we talk about whatever it is that has you so upset."

She stepped beside him and immediately fell into a rhythm of putting the plates together. "Is there something I should know about these supplies, Heinrich?" she asked quietly, but forcefully.

Playing dumb, he answered, "What? Why should there be?"

"Because there are two Gestapo officers in the cafe; this is the first time since we opened that any Gestapo officers have visited. You know they prefer to see the evening show with Lily Frankel at the Kit Kat Club, so have you been doing anything with the supplies...?"

His hands momentarily stopped, he closed his eyes, and then he sighed. "After the dinner rush...I tell you everything. Are they doing anything suspicious?"

She glanced at him sideways, squared her shoulders, and said "Nein, they had their heads close together and were discussing something, but they were also having something from the bar. I will check on them." She stepped to the door and watched as the two men continued talking before finishing their drinks and leaving shortly thereafter. Breathing a sigh of deep relief, she turned back to Heinrich and again asked him, "Would you like talk now?"

Heinrich heaved a heavy sigh of relief, wiped his forehead, and said, "I've been buying some extra supplies from the black market. I promise this is the last time, though. I don't want to bring any trouble down on your head." He braced himself for an outburst, and when one was not forthcoming, he turned to face her. "Gretchen?"

She didn't know what to say to this. Of all the foolish things to do during a war, she thought. Just as she was about to say what was on the tip of her tongue, he interrupted and said, "I was only trying to increase business, liebe. It won't happen again."

She turned from him, began walking out of the kitchen, and said over her shoulder, "See that it doesn't, not just for your sake, but for all of our sakes."

Later on that evening, alone in her room and sitting in front of her vanity, she brushed her hair out and wondered what Anton was doing at that very moment, wishing he was there brushing her hair instead of whatever it was he was doing.


	16. Chapter 16

Hogan's Heroes are the property of Bing Crosby Productions/CBS Television Productions. I'm only playing with them for a little bit. All the other characters are invented by moi and are copyrighted to moi.

Chapter 16: Coming in From Out the Cold

What Anton, or rather Newkirk, was doing at that particular time was a little side-seat driving. LeBeau was driving along the road from Hammelburg to Dusseldorf making record time. "Blimey, LeBeau, keep the thing on the bloody road, will ya? 'Cor, watch that curve-?" he yelped grabbing hold of the back of the seat for leverage. "Slow down, would ya? What ya tryin' ta do, kill us a'fore the firing squad gets a ruddy chance?"

"Arrête de me dire comment conduire, Pierre! J'essaie de se concentrer ... " LeBeau grumbled. "Il est déjà assez difficile d'essayer de conduire sur ces routes allemandescomme il est.."

Not completely chastened, Newkirk continued making snarky comments about the Frenchman's driving until a look from Colonel Hogan made him fall silent. They arrived in Dusseldorf with time to spare. They paused briefly before leaving the car; each one slipping into their character.

Hogan led the way with an exaggerated arrogance that immediately made people clear the way for him. Carter flipped that switch in his mind which made him so convincing as a NAZI that he'd even gotten away with impersonating the Furher on more than one occasion. Newkirk and LeBeau were silent and submissive as the lower ranking member of their little troop; they followed their officers obediently and opened the doors to the bar, following into step behind them and into the bar.

Hogan looked around the bar, which looked darker due to the heavy dark wood which made up the bar's interior. Black-out conditions made the bar's lights very dim, which combined with the smoky atmosphere made Newkirk immediately think of the fogged banked streets of home. The colonel scanned the interior looking for Major Teppel, and his luck was true to form. Spotting the major in a corner table, Hogan and Carter moved in that direction. Over his shoulder, loud enough to be heard by some of the evening crowd, Hogan bellowed, "Schmidt, go back outside and wait by the car. Brenner, you go to the bar and get the lieutenant and myself something to drink."

LeBeau was Schmidt, so he left without a backward glance to Hogan, except for meeting the eye of Brenner/Newkirk. That silent communication told them all they needed to know-the meet was safe, Newkirk would stay as backup, and he was to have the car ready to go at a moment's notice, if needed. Newkirk went to the bar, ordered two beers, and brought them over to the colonel and Carter who had seated themselves at Major Teppel's table. The place was more crowded than usual, so it was it was unlikely to be suspicious for the three officers to share a table.

Teppel's patrician features were slightly thinner and more pronounced than the last time he'd been in Hogan's company. His hair was greyer, and he'd definitely lost some weight. Spying was a great weight loss tool it seemed, although the other benefits were severely lacking, Newkirk thought aimlessly as he finished his observations of the American spy. They had something very much in common, Morrison and him, more than the others knew or could ever know. He focused his attention on the surrounding tables and bar to keep look-out for any signs of trouble, trusting the Guv'nor would fill him and LeBeau on the conversation's particulars afterwards.

"Danke for allowing us to share your table, Herr Major," Hogan said to Teppel as an opening.

"You're most welcome, Herr Major and Herr Leutnant," and under his breath, "We're not being watched, but let's be quick about this." Teppel sipped his drink and waited for Hogan's reply.

Carter sat back and let the colonel talk. He surveyed the tables, the entrance to the bar, and glanced at Newkirk, standing at attention off to the side of the colonel's chair. Newkirk looked every bit the German noncom, standing straight backed at attention, eyes watching the scenes being played in and around the room, being vigilant for the slightest hint of trouble. He knew that Newkirk had had a hard life and that he could be a bit hard at times; sometimes, Carter wondered if Newkirk ever really relaxed or if he was always wary. He sipped his beer and went back to the conversation at hand.

"We can get away from Berlin for the coming weekend, but the Hauserhof has one room available. I think it'd be best if we stay at separate hotels, but they have to be somewhat close," Teppel was saying to the colonel when Carter remembered the inn where Newkirk had stayed the previous weekend.

"What about the Ruhige Zeit, you know that place where our friend spent the weekend?" he mentioned to Hogan.

Hogan rubbed his chin in thought, sipping at the beer at the same time. He motioned for Newkirk to come closer; bending down closer to his commanding officer, Newkirk felt his insides freeze. He didn't want this at all, but this was the colonel's show, not his.

"How was the set up there?" Hogan whispered in his ear, quickly.

"Not crowded, no black uniforms, but there was something about the bartender I didn't like, sir. I suppose it'd be safe enough, especially if it was just for the weekend, sir," he whispered back and then stood up back at attention.

"Ser gut," Teppel said just loud enough to dismiss undue attention, "Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure meeting you and sharing a table with you. However, I must return to duty. Gut Abend and Heil Hitler!" he snapped off a NAZI salute and left the bar.

Hogan finished his beer, allowed Carter to finish his a few minutes later, all the while keeping in cover as officers stopping in just for brief refreshment. Leaving too soon could have aroused suspicion in a country drowning in paranoia. Followed by Newkirk, who opened the door for them to exit the bar, Hogan and Carter climbed back into the back of the staff car for the drive back to camp.

The drive back to camp was just as fast, if not faster, at least according to Newkirk who again side seat drove to the irritation of almost all in the car. They left the car at the drop-off point a few miles from camp where the staff sergeant from the motor pool would retrieve it early in the morning before roll call. They hiked easily back to camp and made their way down into the tunnels where Kinch waited for them by the radio.

They each started changing back into their usual attire before they surrounded the second-in-command to bring him up to speed. "So, how did it go?" Kinch asked after they'd settled pretty much in the same positions they'd had as Peter had weaved his tale the previous time.

"Well, Morrison is looking a little frazzled and the worse for the wear. He's lost a lot of weight, his hair is greyer, and his face is gaunt. It's starting to get to him, so it's a good thing we're getting him outta here," Colonel Hogan said succinctly like it was already a done deal.

Newkirk silently agreed with the colonel's assessment of Morrison's state of health. The man had kept his tradecraft, but the effort was starting to show. It was indeed time to pull the American out of service and let him go home. He lit a cigarette and waited for the rest of the conversation.

"So what's the plan, Colonel?" Kinch asked, with LeBeau and Carter looking in askance and Newkirk silently observing.

Hogan, who had just slipped on his bomber jacket, said, "Teppel suggested that the two of them come to town this weekend and take two separate hotel reservations so as to avoid suspicion. Our friend is going to stay at the Hauserhof because that's where he stayed when visiting our little corner of paradise before. Von Stimmel is going to stay at the place where Newkirk took his R&R because it's out of the way and on the way to the Underground meet. Hopefully, it's quiet enough so he won't attract any undue attention. I guess I'm the only one besides you and Carter who hasn't visited the establishment yet," he smiled and rubbed his chin again.

Carter grinned and said, "You could remedy that, boy-huh sir. Ya know survey the land, say...see if there really were three girls..." Everyone but Newkirk smiled at the mention of girls, while the banter continued.

"Oui, I even bet that you could get the widow to warm up to you, mon colonel," LeBeau said innocently enough.

At that Newkirk straightened, snorted contemptuously, and said roughly almost under his breath, "Not bloody likely."

Silence fell like a downpour. Colonel Hogan straightened and said in his most commanding voice, "What was that, Corporal?"

All eyes were on the Englishman. He swiftly came to attention and said, "Sorry, sir."

"Exactly what is going on with you, corporal?" Hogan said less severely as he circled his English pickpocket.

"Nothing...that is nothing, sir," Newkirk said woodenly, eyes straight ahead.

Seeing that the corporal was withdrawing into himself, Hogan turned to the others and said, "All right, everyone, show's over. Go back up stairs."

The other guys each caught Newkirk's gaze, knew they'd eventually find out what happened in the absence, and climbed the ladder to the barrakes. Hogan paced in front of Newkirk, and again, he asked with slightly more force, "What is going on with you, Corporal Newkirk?"

Blimey, I really fouled up this time, he thought to himself as he sighed softly. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

Newkirk relaxed his stance somewhat and said, "I lied when I said that I didn't meet anyone there. I met someone; it's just I wanted to keep it to meself, sir. She's not some bird what one plays around with, if ya get my meaning, sir. I respect 'er, and don't want 'er gettin' the wrong sorta reputation, sir."

"The widow?"

Newkirk's silence was answer enough.

"Newkirk, I'm not going anywhere or doing anything with anyone right now. Curb your jealousy; we have a mission to accomplish. You've earned KP for two weeks after all of this over, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're dismissed. When you get back topside, send Kinch back down, so he can contact the Underground about them getting ready to handle sending our two friends on their way this weekend. Tomorrow, I want you to start working on papers, clothing, and essentials for them. Carter'll handle the pictures for their identity papers. LeBeau can help you with the clothes, if he's needed."

Newkirk went back up to the bunks, passed onto Kinch the colonel's orders, ignored the looks of concern being shot at him from both Carter and LeBeau, and climbed up onto his bunk without even changing out of his uniform. He thought to himself that maybe Morrison wasn't the only spy who needed to come in from the cold.

*Stop telling me how to drive, Peter! I am trying to focus ...It's hard enough trying to drive on these German roads as it is.


	17. Chapter 17

_Hogan's Heroes belongs to Bing Crosby Productions/CBS Television Productions. The other characters belong to me and are copyrighted to me. Capt. Fritz Fuchs is the property of Jennaya. Thanks for allowing me to play with him._

Chapter 17: I See Nothing a la Hochstetter

Major Hochstetter was furious. It seemed to be his usual state as of late. He was reduced to tracking black market activities, instead of concentrating on capturing the most dangerous man in all of Germany, the bane of his existence: the infamous Papa Bear, Col. Robert E. Hogan. The black market had become a bigger problem of late, so he sat at his desk going through reports gathered by Capt. Fuchs that morning. Fritz was a good, loyal officer who Hochstetter trusted implicitly, so the information was more than accurate. It seemed the activity centered on the Hofbrau and the establishment's owner Karl Brunner*. This little tidbit of information was an open secret because of one of the man's cohorts, a Major Kriegel, was also Gestapo. However, the said cohort was now on the Russian Front instead of facing a firing squad, so Hochstetter felt it safe to crush the blackmarketeers with swift, decisive action, which in truth would alleviate some of mounting frustrations and anger, if only for a little while.

They'd been tracking who the main buyers were and how often these buyers used the illegal services. One of the consistent buyers was a certain man from the inn that Hochstetter and Fuchs had visited the previous day. The inn was small when compared with the Hofbrau and the Hauserhof, but the food was definitely well prepared, the service was amiable, and the beer was of good quality at a decent price. It certainly merited another trip, he thought to himself as he skimmed the document in front of him.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Fritz's head poking through the door, "Major, is there anything else before I leave for the day?" he asked, stepping fully into the room and stopping in front of the desk.

Making up his mind, Hochstetter rose from the desk, closed the file, and grabbed his great coat and cover. "Ja, Fritz, there is; do you have plans for dinner this evening?" he asked knowing that Fuch's wife and son were visiting family on an extended stay.

"Nein, Herr Major. With Lilly and David away visiting family, the house is empty. I'd appreciate the company," Fritz said sincerely.

"Then, let us go back to that inn we visited and have dinner. We can make a decision about this particular subject of the investigation at our discretion." Hochstetter left the office, with Fuch's following along behind him.

The two Gestapo officers arrived just during shift change, so the cafe was busy. They followed the young blonde barmaid to a table in the corner and close to the kitchen. She greeted them warmly, unlike other places where both the customers and the serves dreaded seeing the black uniforms. "Gut Abed, Mein Herren; what can I get you this evening?" she smiled at the major first and then at the captain.

"Two beers; danke," Hochstetter ordered tersely.

"At once, sir," Astrid left the table and placed the order with Bruno, who had not missed the officers' entrance. So, he thought, that is the famous Major Hochstetter, the one who is obsessed with a prison camp, he thought as he drew the draft beers and placed them on the platter for Astrid. He watched as the friendly server delivered the beers and waited for a possible food order. Bruno, who was originally from Berlin and considered himself out of place in this small hamlet, snorted and went back to tending the bar. He was after bigger fish, and as long as Hochstetter and his men stayed out of his way, then the man was of no concern to him.

Gretchen, however, was concerned when again the same two Gestapo officers returned and began looking the place over with undisguised scrutiny. She mumbled a silent prayer or two as she watched Astrid greet and then serve the men. She had no worries about Astrid, who was the consummate professional when it came to her job. She greeted everyone with a smile, was polite without being overly so, and was generally a likeable, amenable girl who just wanted to help her family. There was nothing too deep about Astrid, who just that instance came into the kitchen with the officers' order of food.

"Frau Hoffman, there are two Gestapo officers here. Their order is here," she said handing her the paper.

"Heinrich, do we have these items anymore, even a little left?" she asked in hopes of avoiding going to talk to these men.

"Nein, liebe, we have no more. We ran out yesterday. The meat items tend to go fastest," he said dourly. "Do you want me to go explain to them the situation?"

Gretchen squared her shoulders, shook her head, and made her way through the door to the table. Fuchs and Hochstetter looked up as a woman stopped at their table. She was dressed sensibly, with her dark hair in a bun, and her face resolute. "Mein Herrs, I must apologize, but the items you requested for the evening are no longer in store. We ran out of them yesterday and I am afraid that that was the last time we were able to secure them. They won't be available anymore due to rationing. Is there something else you would prefer? On the house, of course," Gretchen stated succinctly.

"Gnädige frau," Hochstetter said quietly, "in that case, what would you suggest?"

"We have a good many vegetable dishes; I would suggest the reibenkuchen or the spaetzle. They are both still on the menu and are both very good. We also have the kartoffelpuffer, which is a speciality of the House," she finished as stood with her arms down by her side, waiting for their decision. She was used to meeting and interacting with different people, but this major was hiding something-masking it with a shield of anger and hurt that was so deep it colored his whole being.

Hochstetter felt her eyes on him as he leaned closer to Frtiz to ask what he wanted. They both decided on the potato pancakes and a small side of wursts, which proved to be available. Gretchen took their order herself and walked away with a sigh of relief. They were indeed very intimidating men, although the younger of two appeared less severe than did the major. Hochstetter watched appreciatively as the frau walked back to the kitchen with their order. She is definitely a fine specimen of German womanhood, he thought to himself, but she is not his Angel-no one could ever replace his Angel. He winced as he felt the pain in his heart.

"Wolfgang, are you alright?" Fritz whispered worriedly so no one would overhear. He knew he friend despised showing weakness, especially in himself.

Hochstetter took a sip of his beer and completely ignored the question, but he smiled slightly at Fritz to show his appreciation of concern. "So, what action do we take in regards to the Gnädige frau and her quaint little inn?"

"Well, we could follow the frau or whoever does the purchasing to the blacketmarketeer and get them both, catching them red-handed, as it were..." Fritz said while stroking his chin.

"But," Hochstetter said voicing the unspoken word for the captain.

"But, I think Frau Hoffman or whoever is the purchaser is a small fish compared to the real fish we want-the owner of the Hauserhof, Karl Brunner. I am sure after our two visits here that the frau won't dabble in the black market anymore. I don't even know if following whoever is buying the supplies for this place will land us the one we want after our visits here."

"So we just forget about it?"

"Nein, I did not say that. I propose we watch the inn and if the situation occurs where the purchaser does go shopping anytime soon, we follow. If nothing else ask where they get the groceries. This way we avoid raising any more suspicion and undue attention. Plus, there is the side benefit of the good food and quieter atmosphere conducive to business discussion out of the office," he finished with a knowing smile.

Hochstetter took another sip of his beer; it is useful having a more private place to discuss business. The office too many ears as far as he was concerned, and there were just some things one couldn't discuss there. "I think you are right, Fritz," he said as Gretchen approached the table with their order and two more beers, "we shall not bother the frau with this small matter."

Gretchen caught the last of the sentence, but she didn't take the bait. Instead, she smiled her most friendly smile, placed the food and drinks in front of the officers, and said calmly, "Here is your food, Mein Herren. And, I brought you two more beers on the house. Enjoy," she finished as she turned back to towards the kitchen. Both men were relatively surprised that she hadn't said or asked anything else. They recovered rather quickly and all discussion ceased as they ate their meal and enjoyed each other's company. "You can talk up station with whomever you pick as back-up tomorrow, Fritz. Rest up tonight because it's going to be a long day tomorrow," Hochstetter said as they both rose from the table and headed for the exit.

After they left, Gretchen and Heinrich both breathed in relief. The crowd dwindled in number, and soon, it was time to prepare for closing. Bruno cleaned and restocked the bar for tomorrow's lunch shift. He'd decided to phone his superiors and delicately probe them for information on Hochstetter's activities of late. Now that he'd found Nimrod, Bruno didn't want the arrest and, most importantly, the credit going to someone else.

*"Clearance at the Black Market," Airing date September 28, 1968, AN: The owner's first name is the only name given, so I made up his last name.


	18. Chapter 18

Sorry, it's been awhile since I updated. This chapter was a PITA to write, but I finally managed to get it done. As before, I don't own any of the characters from Hogan's Heroes. I am only playing with them.

Chapter 18: The Colonel and the Corporal

Morning roll call came much too early for the guys in Barrake 2. As usual, LeBeau was the first man up trying to avoid making too much noise at least until the coffee was done. He pulled the coffee tin from the bottom of his foot locker where he kept what little of the real stuff he had. After last night's little drama, he figured everyone, especially his best friend, needed something a little stronger than chicory. While the water boiled, he checked through his supplies for breakfast once again. Meager offerings greeted his inspection. He decided that he'd go to town and try Max's again. Anything that he could get was a definite improvement to the offerings of the camp's mess.

Slowly but surely, the other men of the barracks began to awaken to a new morning of the same routine. Carter yawned greatly, sat up on the cot, shivered, and slipped his feet into his boots. Stretching, he stood up and looked at the top bunk. It was empty. Looking around the common room, he didn't spot Newkirk anywhere. Locking eyes with Kinch and LeBeau, who also noticed the Englander's absence, he moved to the bunk that led to the tunnel system. Before the bottom bunk raised itself completely to connect with the top, Carter was climbing down the ladder. Once his feet hit the dirt floor, he took off to Newkirk's tailoring tunnel only to find him slouched over a finished uniform lying finished in his lap. A full ashtray balanced on the corner of sewing table which Carter upset as he stepped fully into the room. The ashtray fell to the floor, clanged against the table leg, spilling the ash and butts on the floor and some landing on Newkirk's pant legs.

Instantly, Newkirk awoke, his right hand reaching for his pencil sharpener, and his left reaching for his smaller, deadlier knife. Carter gasped as he observed Newkirk's actions. I guess this answers my question about whether Newkirk ever really relaxes, Carter thought as he absently shifted from one foot to the other waiting for Newkirk to calm down enough to talk. He didn't have to wait long because almost instantly, Newkirk recovered himself and was once more the easy-going Cockney. "Blimey, Andrew," he yawned, "give me some warnin' next time a'fore you wake me up, right?" Reaching for the small table next to his chair, he took his packet of cigarette, lit one, and then inhaled deeply. Instantly the nicotine hit his bloodstream bringing a sense of well-being replacing the anger he'd tried to deal with in the night.

Carter blinked in momentary confusion at the swift mood change in his friend, but he recovered himself as he remembered the reason for coming to the tunnels. "Roll call is in five minutes, Newkirk. You wanna get up there pretty quick."

In a jiffy, they were both climbing the ladder and up top just as LeBeau was pouring the last cup of coffee. Kinch and he looked up as the two clambered over the lower bunk and plopped down on the bench almost simultaneously. Not long afterwards, Schultz shuffles into the barracks, bringing with him the first hints of colder weather. Gripes against the early morning cold and not the German sergeant brought a smile to the portly guards face as he accepted the steaming cup of coffee from LeBeau. "Danke, Cockroach, we have some time before roll call seeing as everyone is up bright and early this morning...oh, Col. Hogan, Guten morgen!"

The colonel greeted the jolly guard with half his attention. He looked around the room noticing that Newkirk was sipping his coffee and smoking his cigarette quietly yet not meeting his eyes. There was definitely something going on with the English corporal that he needed to get to the bottom of and soon before whatever it was blew up in their faces. As if he felt himself being watched, Newkirk finally lifted his head, met his commanding officer's gaze, and then looked back down. Schultz's good mood suddenly evaporated as he noticed the tension suddenly descend in the barracks. Finishing up his coffee, he bellowed, "Raus! Raus! Roll call! Everybody, raus! Out, out, out the door! Schnell!"

"Alll right, Schultzie, geez! Can't a guy have one morning without any bellowing? I mean, ya just drank the last of our coffee; boy, talk about being grateful..." Carter griped as he headed out the door followed by the grumbling residents of the barracks. The last two to leave the barracks were the colonel and the corporal.

Mercifully, the Kommandant had very little to say this chilly morning, so after he accepted Schultz's report, he practically skipped back to the Kommandantur leaving his sergeant to disperse the men. Once back inside, the other men started going about their normal activities leaving the core group of men at the table. Before any of them got a chance to get comfortable, Col. Hogan motioned for Newkirk to follow him into his office. Once the door closed, the colonel motioned for Newkirk to sit on the bottom bunk before taking the chair at his desk.

"Corporal, I have a feeling there is something you're hiding that I really need to know.

This is it, Newkirk thought to himself, as he lit his third cigarette in the last twenty minutes. This is where I either go against all me orders an tell 'in the truth, or I look 'im straight in the eye, lie ta 'im, an' never 'ave 'is complete trust again. Times like this I really 'ate me life, he thought to himself as he ran a weary over his careworn face.

To Col Robert E. Hogan, USAF, it seemed as if the younger man suddenly held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Newkirk seemed to deflate in on himself under Hogan's intense scrutiny. Just as Hogan was about to change his mind about this confrontation, Newkirk sat up straight and opened his mouth, "Well, sir, it's really a..."

"Sir! You gotta come down to the radio room!" Carter burst into the office at a breakneck pace, stopping only as he came close to bumping into and upsetting the desk. Both men's heads snapped around at technical sergeant's entrance. "Kinch needs you quick, sir! Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, sir..." he mumbled as he noticed the other men's posture.

Colonel Hogan got up and started for the doorway, with Newkirk and Carter following closely behind. Olsen stood look out as the three men moved down into the tunnel system. They hurried to the radio room and found Kinch transcribing the third message in a series. He looked up at their approach and gave all three of the finished messages to Col. Hogan. He read them twice before wrapping his arms around himself and paced. The papers were lying on the radio table, and Newkirk braved the Colonel's wrath, picked them up, read them -also twice-before handing them to Carter. "Holy cats!" Carter exclaimed. "He can't be serious, can he?"

Hogan stopped pacing and still next to table. "I'm afraid he is, and like or not, they're on their way here. We better be ready for them. Kinch, contact Bluebird; we're going to need all hands on this one." Hogan caught the eyes of all the men.


	19. Chapter 19

_I want to thank everyone for taking the time to read this story. The comments and reviews have been very informative and positive. I hope you all continue to enjoy it. As always, I don't own the characters or series of Hogan Heroes; Bing Crosby Productions/CBS Television has that honor. The original characters belong to me with the exception of Captain Fuchs who belongs to Jennaya. _

Chapter 19: Spy versus Spy

Major Hans Teppel stood and stared out of his office window, smoking a cigarette. The wisps of smoke layered themselves in the room like a foggy night in the thick Bavarian forests. He ran a weary hand through his completely white mein, thinking about the last twenty four hours. He had met with von Stimmel at an out the way cafe to confirm his suspicions. The Abwehr was to be dissolved any day now, and its men were to be incorporated into the SS or sent off to the Eastern Front, unless they were deemed enemies of the state, which meant automatic firing squad. As there was no love lost between the SS and the Abwehr, it was a certainty that the latter two options were the choices for most of the men. Major Teppel aka Robert Morrison was a realist and knew that his time was limited, which was why he made the arrangements to leave Berlin as soon as possible. In fact, his suitcase was already packed and in his staff car. He was clearing out his office waiting for von Stimmel's phone call before heading out to Hammelburg and the rendezvous with Hogan. Teppel poured himself a stiff drink and finished off his cigarette. Just as he'd downed the last of his drink, the phone rang. It was von Stimmel. It was time to leave Berlin and Nazi Germany behind; time to leave Major Hans Teppel and become Robert Morrison again.

Major Albrecht von Stimmel sat at his desk just off from Herr General Adolf Heusinger's office, the new Chief of the General Staff of the Army; he'd recently replaced von Stimmel's favored patron Herr General Kurt Zeitzler. Von Stimmel didn't consider the actions he was taking as traitorous; merely, he was pragmatic. He recognized that the tide of war was turning from Germany's favor, and he always had a knack for choosing the winning side. He had met Major Teppel at a function hosted by Admiral Wilhelm Canaris before the admiral incurred Hitler's wrath. A few more meetings, which included a few too many drinks, and von Stimmel was hooked. Information slipped from his mouth like honey from a honeycomb; information that was passed onto the Allies; information that was upper echelon level clearance. Luckily for von Stimmel, no one connected the leak to him, but he knew he couldn't report Teppel because then the man would name his source...so he resolved himself to the situation of being a spy for the Allies. He even began to revel in his double life; it was exciting especially since he never served in combat. It colored his whole life: food tasted better, wine was richer, and sex was more passionate; everything was clearer. This excitement, however, turned to fear when the Gestapo came calling asking questions about someone else in the office. This visit was a little too close to home and after that incident; he decided that enough was enough. He wanted out, and since Teppel got him into this situation, von Stimmel decided that Teppel was just the person to get him out of it. Only after their lunchtime meeting did he learn that Teppel planned on getting out of Germany also.

He got up from his desk after glancing at the clock on the sideboard. It was getting into the evening hours, a perfect time to begin their journey of escape of Germany. Von Stimmel grabbed his cap, his coat, and his briefcase as he headed for the door. It was the weekend, and he was not on duty for a change. He had his travel papers in order, signed by General Heusinger himself. It is now or never, he told himself as he climbed into his staff car which headed to the cafe where he'd met Fate in the form of a Major from Germany via Minnesota.

Meanwhile, Hogan was overseeing his band of merry men going about their duties with a sense of urgency and renewed vigor. The events of the night before were tabled in the effort to get the uniforms, papers, and anything else the two men needed in order. Newkirk had stayed up the previous evening sewing one set of clothes and was now just completing the final set. Hogan's plan was a simple yet elegant solution to the problem. Since Teppel was afraid that the Gestapo was on to him, Hogan decided that once the two men checked into their respective hotels that the Gestapo would pick them up, only it would be Bluebird on one man and Carter on the other. Accompanying Carter and Bluebird would be Newkirk and the colonel himself. Since Newkirk was known at the Ruhige Zeit Inn, he would accompany Bluebird to the Hauserhof to pick up von Stimmel leaving the Colonel and Carter to pick up Teppel. Hogan's original plan was to hand them directly off to the Underground which would then lead them to safety, but the situation had changed time wise. Hogan had not heard back from the Underground, so he decided to bring the two of them to camp. Hopefully, their stay with Camp Paradise would be a short one.

Newkirk stopped and stretched his shoulders. He had been hunched over the uniforms sewing for most of the evening last night and into the day. He stood up and worked the kinks out of his back and neck. He'd missed lunch in the mess hall, so with his stomach reminding him that he needed to feed it occasionally, he went topside to see what he could scrounge from LeBeau. He sat down at the table in the Common room and rubbed his eyes wearily. Blimey, I'm tired, he sighed as he poked at the food LeBeau silently set in front of him. Me eyes are so tired I 'ope I don't go cross-eyed workin' on the forgeries.

LeBeau knew that something was off between his friend and the colonel; he just wished that Pierre didn't hold things in so. He felt helpless to assist his friends; he didn't like it when there was tension in the team. It led to bad feelings and bad digestion. C'est la vie je suppose, he thought to himself, shrugging his shoulders fatalistically. He turned back to see the Englishman's head almost face first in the plate of half-finished food. "Pierre, eat the food; don't sleep in it, mon pote," he said tapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Eh? Wot?" Newkirk mumbled incoherently.

"Pierre, take a nap. You're no good to anyone in the state you're in right now," LeBeau said helping the Englishman onto his bunk.

"Thanks, li'l mate; I just need five minutes, and then I'll be right as rain," he mumbled even as his eyes closed.

It seemed less than five minutes when he was awakened by the colonel's voice close to his head. "Come on, Newkirk, time to get up. Evening roll call, and then I have a job for you..."

Newkirk snapped awake and sat up in the bunk. He yawned mightily and slipped down the bunk to the floor. Yawning again, he reached for his cover and great coat. Sleepily, he shuffled out the door and took his place in line next to Colonel Hogan. Thankfully, the roll call was short and to the point. Again, Klink didn't make a speech much to the prisoners' delight. Newkirk stumbled back into the barracks, sat down at the table, and lit a cigarette. Inhaling the smoke, he let his head rest on his elbows waiting for the colonel to tell him exactly what this next job entailed. "Damn," he muttered under his breath as he stood quickly almost knocking the table over.

Heads turned in his direction, especially that of Hogan's. "Newkirk?" he asked.

"The documents, sir. I'm sorry I fergot ta do 'em," he muttered under his breath as he headed for the bunk which led downstairs.

"Hold up, Newkirk; they've been taken care of. Kinch saw to them. I'll let you look at them late. Right now, I need you to become Anton Brauer and do a reconnaissance mission at your favorite inn. I'm going to the Hauserhof to reconnoiter it for Gestapo. You're to go there, look around, and then come back as soon as you can, understand?"

Newkirk blushed because he'd just been thinking about Gretchen and seeing her again. Mentally, he shook himself. He'd have plenty of time to see Gretchen after this little escapade was concluded. At least that was what he hoped depending on how things played out in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. He took another drag on his cigarette, shaking his head, and silently wishing that Carter hadn't interrupted when he did. He knew that was only putting off the inevitable; sooner or later, he'd have to tell Hogan everything.


	20. Chapter 20

I do not own Hogan's Heroes; Bing Crosby Productions/CBS Television does. Please read and enjoy.

Chapter 20: The Loon, the Bluebird, and the Phantom

Bruno Reiger was at his usual place getting the bar ready for the business day tomorrow. He ran his hands over the bar almost lovingly, counting the kegs, checking the hookups to the spigots, and then finally, did a count of the bottled liquors. The woman who he replaced was now deceased. His cover was that of a wounded veteran who now served as a member of the Volkssturm. His masters had arrested her on a tip right after a meeting with the elusive Nimrod. After various methods of persuasion, she broke and gave them all the information they wanted, anything to stop the pain. Mercifully, she met her end with a bullet in a deserted room. He had relished watching the interrogation, learning the newest techniques. Of course, since he had been included in the apprehension of the woman, her interrogation, and then her disposal, he considered himself a definite candidate for her replacement. The cover was full-proof and had indeed withstood closer scrutiny from the named sources. It helped that his facial injuries were real; the practiced limp came as a stroke of genius. Truly his superiors were great examples of the Third Reich and the Master Race.

Finishing his closing routine while ruminating on the situation of how to get Nimrod, he surreptitiously observed Gretchen and Astrid finished sweeping the floor and setting the tables with fresh linen. Again, he thought of Gretchen lowering herself to be with that man. He had already decided that she would for her betrayal to German womanhood like all traitors pay, and he would enjoy every minute of it. Thinking of the pleasure ahead, he made his way to the door, all the while whistling cheerfully. Heinrich had finished in the kitchen and had watched the entire scene from the doorway.

Heinrich was smoking a cigarette, one of the rare times when he indulged, watching Bruno watch the women, Gretchen especially. He grunted as he watched the predatory smile flash across the disfigured bartender's face. Taking another deep drag on his cigarette, he decided that it would be worth the risk of contacting the blackmarketeers to see what they could do about getting rid of a certain bartender. After all, they did owe him a few favors.

He finished his cigarette and then went to help Astrid and Gretchen finish the setting up in the morning. Giving Gretchen a kiss on the cheek, he and Astrid left through the front door. Heinrich then walked Astrid home to the boarding house she shared with three other young ladies. He would have hell to pay from his lapse with the cigarette when his wife smelled it on his clothes. Shrugging his shoulders and hunching himself deeper into his coat, he walked home through the deserted streets.

Gretchen locked the doors and made her way to the room behind the reception desk. Closing the door, she moved to her bureau and undressed. She changed into her robe and made her way to the bath. Fifteen minutes later, her hair still damp from the shower, she sat at her dressing table, drying it with a towel, before braiding it for bed. She picked up the comb and was just about to start untangling it, when she heard a knocking on the outside door. Thinking it was probably the night watchman making his rounds; she went to the door and peeked through the window. Gasping and crying aloud, she opened the door, pulled Anton into the building, and kissed him soundly and thoroughly. Needing air, they separated and breathed.

Newkirk hadn't known what to expect, but her greeting wasn't it. He smiled and bent to kiss her again, deeply and hungrily. He picked her up, moved passed the reception area, and into her room. Somewhere in between the doorway and the bed, his uniform was unbuttoned, the blouse removed, and his pants undone. He smiled against her lips as her hands moved to unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. Pulling back for another breath, "Liebe, one would think that you missed me, ja?" he asked playfully nipping her bottom lip.

"And, you missed me, as well, ja?" she teased back moving herself flush to his body, feeling the proof of his need for her. His hands moved to her robe when he noticed her hair. He left her side briefly and grabbed the comb from the dressing table. When he returned to her, she was nude and sitting on the bed, waiting for him. He handed her the comb, undressed, and sat behind her; he combed through her long dark hair, reveling in the silky feel of it as it slipped through his fingers. She was again amazed at the gentleness of this man as he finished up with his self-appointed task. When he finished, he again got up from the bed, went to his uniform pants, and pulled out a little packet; he placed it on the bedside table and pulled her to him.

An hour later, they lay together enjoying the closeness. She turned over looking at him. He smiled at her, took her hand, and kissed her fingertips. She nuzzled his shoulder and finally asked, "What are you doing here so soon? Not that I am complaining, Anton. I thought by now you'd be back at the Eastern Front." She moved closer to his face, placed a kiss on his cheek, and asked hopefully, "Did you get stationed here?"

He kissed her lightly on the lips and said, "Nein. I was taking some orders to Headquarters in Hammelburg and decided to stop in to see how you were faring before I returned to my unit. I don't have much time, Liebe. In fact, I should get going, but the truth of the matter is that I want nothing more than to stay with you." He kissed her deeply and pulled her closer.

She thought it might have been something like that, but one could always hope. She returned his kiss with equal vigor and soon they were moving together. Afterwards, when their breathing returned to normal, he held her loosely to his chest, basking in the warmth of her breath and her presence. She rested her head on his chest and kissed him while she made circles with her hand on his stomach. "Now, Liebchen, remember I happen to be very ticklish," he said smilingly as he gently stilled her hand.

"I know," she murmured sleepily, "when do you have to leave to make it back on time, mein liebe?"

He glanced at his watch on the bedside table and said, "No later than half an hour if I want to make it back and not be on report." He shifted to pull her closer. "How have you been? Are you safe?"

She thought about mentioning her misgivings about Bruno, but she decided that he had enough to worry about with being at the Front. "Business has dropped off a little more, but we are making it. Thanks to your help."

"Have there been any suspicious or intimidating people in the neighborhood? I worry about you, Liebchen."

She looked up at him and smiled. "The only people who have been in recently were some Gestapo officers, a major and a captain. They ate lunch, had some beers, and then left. They visited twice this week, but that was earlier in the week. They haven't been back since. I don't really think I'll be seeing them anymore. At least I hope not." She involuntarily shuddered at the remembrance of the hawk-faced major and the handsome, yet cold captain.

He unconsciously tightened his grip on her shoulder and brought her closer, if at all possible. He was suddenly uncomfortable with the thought of leaving her alone. He kissed the top of her head and said, "Are you sure that it was not anything serious? I have some friends in the area that I can ask to watch over the inn. Maybe you could go on a trip to visit family?"

"My family is dead. I lost my parents before the war, shortly after I got married. They didn't live long enough to see their first grandchild."

He sat up quickly and stared at her. "Grandchild? Child? You have a child?" Stupidly, he looked around for any signs of children that he might have missed on previous visits.

She wrapped the sheet around her, sat up, and moved to the side of the bed. Her hair hid her face as she said, "Had a child. A boy. He is with his father now. You see, he was a year old when he got a case of the German measles, developed pneumonia, and died shortly thereafter." She turned away from him, got up from the bed, and went to the bathroom. He stayed on the bed, sitting up now, but not knowing what to do or to say. When she didn't immediately return, he got up from the bed, went to the bathroom door, and found it unlocked. He knocked softly, and then he entered only to find her sitting on the floor next to the tub, her head resting on the cool porcelain top. He found himself down on his knees, just holding her as she cried herself out. When she had stopped, he led her gently back to the bed, tucked her in, kissed her mouth and forehead gently, and whispered, "Liebchen, I must go now. I desperately wish I did not have to leave you like this, but I don't want to end up in the stockade for being late to get back. I call some of my friends to check on you when I get back to the Front, and I will try to come back as soon as I can." He stroked her head and face before she turned over to face the wall. In minutes, he heard the sound of gentle breathing as he dressed silently and left the room.

Once outside the inn, he circled to the back of the building to the old dravf tree with its sprawling limbs and hiding places. He retrieved his smaller knife from the hiding place where he had stowed it before going inside. From the corner of the building, he spied Bluebird motioning for him to meet him. Cautiously, Newkirk made his way to the corner wary of the presence of other Gestapo.

Captain Fuchs had been surprised when Newkirk had shown up in German uniform. He had just been informed that Papa Bear was moving forward with the plans of extracting the packages sooner than expected. "Phantom, what are you doing here?" he whispered as Newkirk drew closer.

"Bluebird, I was doing some reconnoitering. What are you doing here? My source tells me that you and the Big Bad Wolf were here twice this week," he replied scanning the immediate area.

Fuchs had always been impressed with Newkirk's skills and tradecraft. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Englander had more training than some of the others of Papa Bear's group; he just wasn't sure what that training entailed. He touched the Englander's shoulder and whispered, "There is only one other soldier, and I stationed him closer to the corner on the opposite side of the inn. He has orders to stay there unless I call him or come get him. We are watching the inn for any connections with the local blackmarketeers, but I have noticed the bartender. There is something about him I don't like."

Newkirk took all this in while his face betrayed nothing. He decided that once this Teppel business was completed that he'd deal with Bruno and come clean with Col. Hogan. Pulling his great coat around himself, he asked Bluebird, "Papa Bear contact you about the plans for tomorrow?"

Fuchs nodded and said, "I will clear it with the Big Bad Wolf and meet you at the appointed place at 1900 hours while the other two complete their part of the mission."

"Listen, this has nothing to do with the mission, but I had a feeling about the bartender, too, when I first came here. You think maybe you could keep a discreet eye on him for me?"

Fuchs smiled like a cat that ate the canary. "My friend, I'm Gestapo; I can keep an eye on anybody. May I ask if this is personal or business?"

Newkirk looked him squarely in the eye and said, "Personal. There's someone I care for in there as much as you care for Lillie and David."

For a moment, Fuchs could only stare at Newkirk. It appeared the Englishman who always bragged about being having a way with the ladies had finally met his match, and in the form of a German war widow. Life was indeed strange. Bluebird reached and grasped the Englishman's hand. "I promise that no harm will come to her, my friend."

Newkirk returned the handshake and said, "Thank you. Now I have to get back so I won't have two more weeks of KP. Be safe, Fritz." With that, Newkirk hurried past the tree, back towards the front of the building, dodged the aforementioned soldier who was smoking a cigarette while leaning against the corner, and then made it to the road back to camp. He got back within ten minutes of the Colonel returning from the Hauserhof. The debriefing lasted twenty minutes and then because it was to be a big day for all of them tomorrow, they climbed topside and crept exhausted back to their respective bunks.


	21. Chapter 21

_Sorry it has been so long between installments. Real Life is sucky at the moment, so I am escaping into the even better work of World War II via Hogan's Heroes. I don't own the show or its characters; I don't own Capt. Fuchs (Jennaya does), but all the other characters are mine_.

Chapter 21: Checking In and an Arresting Development

For a change, Newkirk was the first one up the following morning. He slid down from the top bunk quietly, tapped the bunk that led down to the tunnels; miraculously, it made very little noise which allowed him to climb below without waking anyone. He made his way along the earthen wall to the radio room. Before he sat down at the radio, he looked around warily. He switched the radio to his frequency, waited a two count, and said, "Nebuchadnezzar, come in..."

There was static as he tried for another two times. Finally, the static was replaced with ""Nebuchadnezzar, here, old boy. The movie hasn't come to town yet, so what can I do for you, old chap?

Newkirk took a breath and said in the slight German accent he always used with this version of Nebuchadnezzar, "I was calling to let you know that it will be in the neighborhood in the next two to three days, special delivery in a hat sized box. The delivery man is a nice older gentleman from the city of many lakes. You will be pleased with the movie, although the distributor is in question."

There was a silence of about two minutes, and then Nebuchadnezzar replied, "The distributor came highly recommended, old boy. Is there a problem?"

"Check into it more thoroughly, old chap," Newkirk replied, "the other distributor moved out of the area so quickly that I never found out what happened."

Again there was a moment of silence before Nebuchadnezzar replied, "Will do, and we will get back to you when the movie is in the theatres. Out."

Newkirk sighed, rubbed his eyes, and leaned against the table before switching the radio back to Papa Bear's regular frequency. He stood up, lit a cigarette, and moved back to the bunk which led topside. Once there, he went over to the stove, brought up the fire, ran some water, and nabbed some chicory/coffee from LeBeau's foot locker. As the smell of warming liquid wafted through the common room, Newkirk moved to his locker and dressed for the day. Like a beckoning finger lifting a chin, the smell of the coffee brought Kinch awake first, then LeBeau, followed by Carter, and finally, Hogan who poked his head out of his office and said, "Newkirk, did you make the coffee?"

After roll call, the core group was enjoying another pot of coffee, this slightly less strong. Colonel Hogan was discussing the finer details of the plan for the evening. "Ok, Carter, you'll be the ranking officer in this little adventure. You do Nazi so well." At that, Carter sat up straight about to say something, but he stopped when Colonel Hogan got that slight smile that let him know that the colonel was teasing him. "Newkirk, you'll be working with Bluebird at the Hauserhof. Each team will be carrying a copy of the faked arrest orders that the boys worked on under your expert tutelage, Maestro."

"Why, thank ya, guv'nor. I did me level best," he said grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"Kinch, I want you to contact the Underground to set up a group for pick up tomorrow evening and then contact London and let them know that the packages will be on the way. After that, get to the motor pool and see about getting the staff car for us this evening. LeBeau, you have the job of keeping our beloved Sgt. Schultz busy this evening. He's got guard duty. We'll leave about an hour after roll call, pick up the extra staff car at the rendezvous point, and meet Bluebird on the outskirts of town where he'll be waiting with his car. You, Newkirk, will go with him to the Hauserhof, "arrest" von Stimmel, and bring him back here. Carter and I'll go to the inn, "arrest" Teppel, and bring him back here. When they get here, we'll start getting them ready to transfer them to the Underground who will then lead them to the submarine pickup."

The meeting then broke up as the men moved to their daily activities. Most of the day passed as usual, although a spirit of anticipation seemed to hover over the camp. The men directly involved in the operation finished their daily tasks and started on preparations for the evening's mission. Forgeries were checked and rechecked, uniforms were straightened and boots were polished. Finally, evening roll call was called and the men fell out for formation. The evening cold had a bite to it signaling the onset of fall. Sounds of stamping feet accompanied the count of the men. Schultz finished the count, turned around to report to Komandant Big Shot, who mercifully did not keep the men but dismissed them immediately.

Schultz shadowed the men of Barrake 2 inside and helped himself to a cup of coffee. The men all looked at Col. Hogan, who moved over to the big sergeant who sat sipping his coffee. "So, Schultz, whatcha doing?"

"It's getting colder out; didn't you feel the bite in the air? Uh, Colonel Hogan, the Big Shot has me standing guard along the fence this evening because my boots weren't polished good enough...they didn't shine as good as his head...Ach du Lieber! I am not looking forward to this evening," he grumbled as he sipped his coffee in no hurry at all to go outside.

Newkirk laid his hand on the big man's shoulder and said, "Schultzie, ya keep drinkin' up our coffee, we're not goin' 'ave anythin' left. Besides, we 'ave thin's we need ta do, so why don't ya go on ta your post like a good German soldier."

Schultz stood up and looked around the room at the men standing around him. Tension radiated off most of them, but especially from the usual men who were always up to monkey business. He knew they were always doing something dangerous, but usually, he turned a blind eye. He wanted this war over with as soon as possible because of his extra activities and for the welfare of his eldest son. If these boys, his boys, could help the war end sooner, with Germany not being totally destroyed in the process, he didn't consider it treason to ignore their activities. So, he turned to Colonel Hogan and said as sternly as he could manage, "Be careful with your monkey business. Make sure everyone is safe and back before roll call in the morning, Verstehen Sie?" He gulped his coffee and left the Barrake without waiting for a response.

The core team went down to the tunnels, got into uniform, and one by one climbed up the ladder. Cautiously, they made out of the woods, made it to the waiting staff car, and drove to the meeting spot. They didn't have long to wait because Bluebird showed no more than five to seven minutes later. They checked their weapons and went over the plan one final time, and then they divided into their respective teams.


	22. Chapter 22

_I wanted to finish this thought that carried over from the last chapter, so here is another chapter for you all to read this weekend. I don't own the characters from Hogan's Heroes; they belong to CBS Television/Bing Crosby Productions, at least I think they do. Von Stimmel, Heinrich, and Gretchen belong to me._

Chapter 22: Dualities and Worries

While Hogan and his unsung heroes were getting ready for the mission, the objects of their mission were meeting in the cafe at the appointed time going over their separate exodus from Berlin to Hammelburg. The beers they ordered sat untouched near each man's elbow as they quietly discussed what routes they would take and when they should leave.

"I think I should leave first, Herr Major," von Stimmel asserted for the third time. He desperately wanted to flee the oppressive atmosphere of Berlin.

Teppel sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He'd just explained that why he was leaving right after the meeting and that von Stimmel was to leave at dusk after stopping at his house as usual. "Albrecht, we don't want to arouse suspicion, do we? I need to leave first because it is my habit to leave Berlin after lunch on Fridays. You usually home first before you travel anywhere outside of Berlin. Any deviation from routine behaviors will give rise to suspicion. Therefore, I am leaving first, from here, and going to Hammelburg as per my travel papers. My suitcase is already packed and in the boot of my staff car. Go home, have a drink, take a shower, and pack a suitcase. Then as the sun sets, you can start your trip. Now, if you will excuse me," Teppel stood, not giving the other man a chance to reply, "I be on my way. Auf Wiedersehen, mein herr."

Teppel moved to his staff car, ordered his driver to proceed, and sat back looking over some documents he'd brought with him for the trip. He trusted his driver to do as ordered and for a little extra consideration, go the extra mile for him. Money was the currency of loyalty now in the Third Reich. Even the lowliest corporal was putting away foreign currency in the face of the daily advancing Allies. Since he worked for the Abwehr, Teppel handled foreign currency for "information transactions" daily. Having some of the money pocketed was not a problem when he was the one who counted out the monies before, during, and after the transactions. If some of that money ended up in his corporal's pockets, no one was the wiser, at least until the Gestapo takes over the Intelligence service, he thought ruefully. He shook his head and hoped that von Stimmel didn't lose his nerve and do anything to rouse suspicion at this late juncture.

While Teppel's staff car slid away from the curb of the cafe, von Stimmel seethed at the turn of events. The man who was responsible for his current situation was getting safely out of Berlin while he had to wait another two hours. Anything could happen to him in two hours. He rose from his chair, paid for the tab, and went to his staff car. Curtly, he directed his driver to drive him to his home. Once there, he went inside and up the stairs to his room. He showered, packed, changed into a clean uniform, and went to his office where he put the important papers from his home safe into his briefcase. Pausing before closing it, he looked inside the first edition of Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn that he'd hollowed out to hide American money, $50,000 he'd "inherited" from his father. Once this was done, he brought his luggage and his briefcase down to the foyer of his home. Then, he went into the kitchen and made himself a sandwich, a glass of milk, and an apple. He waited until the sunset burned the fall sky with its brilliance, and then he summoned his driver, who loaded the staff car's boot, and then ushered von Stimmel inside. They set off on their drive to Hammelburg with a shadow following along behind them, one not cast by the setting sun.

After he arrived in Hammelburg, Teppel instructed his driver to make his way to the Ruhige Zeit. Once there, the driver unloaded the car and carried the luggage inside where he set them by the reception desk. Gretchen was waiting at the desk having heard the car pull into the driveway. She noticed that the officer who came inside, stopped at the desk, and waited patiently while she dealt with Heinrich's daily expenses. Heinrich managed to catch a glimpse of the officer and was relieved that the man was not wearing black; however, he quickly changed this thought when he noticed the officer's uniform insignia-Abwehr. He shook his head slightly on the way back to the kitchen thinking, First the Gestapo, now the Abwehr, I don't even want to see who shows up next. I guess, all we can do is keep our heads down and hope for the best.

Gretchen directed her attention to the Major, sized him up in one glance as a very overworked, tired man whose job was slowly killing him. She gave him a small smile and said, "Guten Nacht, Herr Major. May I see your papers and identification?" as she slid the guest registry for him to sign.

"Guten Nacht, Fraulein" he said wearily. He smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. He handed her the orders and his identification card.

"Herr Teppel, how long will be staying with us?" she asked as he signed the registry.

"For the weekend, Fraulein."

"Frau, mein herr. Frau Hoffman," she paused as he pulled out his billfold, "It is ten marks a night."

"Reasonable, and I beg your pardon, Frau Hoffman," he said handing her the money for the weekend in advance.

She gave him the key and led him to his room all the while thinking back to the last time she led an officer to a room. She hoped Anton was safe as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Herr Teppel, there are extra blankets in the closet. Due to rationing, we cannot keep as warm as some guests would like, so we have extra blankets in all of the rooms. There is a wash closet at the end of the hall; please just make sure that you knock before you enter because there are two other guests besides yourself sharing it. I'll leave you to get settled; the kitchen closes at 9:00PM, with the bar closing at 10:00PM."

Hans Teppel unpacked, undressed, and climbed into the bed thinking that in a matter of hours that the weight of his world would soon be off his shoulders and placed squarely on Papa Bear's capable, younger shoulders, and he couldn't be happier. He was almost home.

Von Stimmel was engrossed in his paperwork, so he never noticed the dark, smaller car shadowing his larger staff car. His driver noticed it and wondered who it might be, but as his officer was an important officer and personal aid to a member of the General Staff, he assumed the car that followed them was an armed escort. He shook his head and concentrated on the road. He was a driver, so he drove as instructed. The trip was not exciting, but during the war, he had had his share of excitement. His leg still throbbed whenever it rained, he thought ruefully.

Finally, full dark fell, and they were driving slower for safety reasons due to blackout conditions. As they slowed the car following them dropped back. Before they reached Hammelburg, the car pulled off the road heading towards Stalag 13. Von Stimmel's staff car made it safely to the Hauserhof where the officer checked in and settled himself for the evening and the events to come.


	23. Chapter 23

_I don't own Hogan Heroes and I want to apologize for anyone who has been waiting for me to update this story. Real life intruded in a big way, involving serious medical conditions and I'm just getting back on a slightly even keel. I'll try to update more frequently and finish this story soon. _

_Just stay with me a little bit longer. Thanks again_.

Chapter 23: Phantom Musings and Mysteries Solved

On that same morning of the intrepid Heroes' mission, Captain Fuchs was at Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg bright and early even though he had spent the previous evening on watch at the Ruhge Ziet. Nothing untoward had occurred with the exception of Phantom appearing in the evening as close to curfew as one could get without being stopped and detained. After the Englander had left the inn, Fuchs had pondered what the man had asked him to do. Of all the men in Colonel Hogan's merry band, Newkirk was almost an enigma. On the one hand, he appeared to embrace cowardice as a lifestyle, and yet, when situations demanded it, he showed almost a foolhardy bravery if it meant rescuing one of his mates or preventing harm from coming to them. The man smoked like a chimney, yet he could easily keep up in a sprint. He was fiercely loyal to his friends and could be quite ruthless with his enemies; yet, for the fairer sex, he seemingly was the first to believe the best and overlook the worst in them. His speech was the broken English that his countrymen called Cockney, yet Fuchs had heard the Englander use perfect English when impersonating various individuals; as for his German, it was almost as good as a native speaker, including the regional nuances. Finally, Fuchs had heard about the so-called "pencil sharpener" that Phantom kept on his person at all times and of his expertise with it.

He pondered this character whilst he sat at his desk in his own office which was just in view of the main office of the Big Bad Wolf-aka Hochstetter, whom he considered a good, yet, very misguided man. Hochstetter was not all that different from Hogan and his English corporal in some ways. All three held strong beliefs of country, pride, and loyalty, yet the concept of rightness seemed to be missing from Hochstetler's psyche when it came to some of the horrendous things the Third Reich condoned and practiced. Still, Fuchs kept hoping that someday soon, Hochstetter would see the folly of in his support of the current regime and work with him to end the war sooner for a better Germany-one without the Nazi Party.

Sighing, he stood up from his desk and got some coffee, which was just slightly better than that offered to him whenever he visited Robert at the camp. He came back to his office and almost collided with Major Hochstetter who was coming out. Apologies were hurriedly exchanged as Hochstetter followed Fuchs back into the smaller office. Taking the seat across from Fritz, Wolfgang came straight to the point of his visit. "Has there been any movement at the inn by the way of the black market?"

"Nein, it was a very quiet, very boring night last night. The cook and the night waitress left as soon as the inn closed. There was one additional guest-a major who looked like he was on a much needed respite. Frau Hoffman locked up, dimmed the lights and nothing happened until they reopened this morning. I think this is a dead end," he said as he drained the last of his coffee. He sat back and observed Hochstetler's reaction to the news. The major was not happy at having to handle this kind of case where he felt his talents wasted. He was angry and had been angry for a long time now; mostly he was angry that he had yet to prove that Hogan was indeed Papa Bear.

Hochstetter sighed heavily and then stood abruptly, "Very well, we will continue the surveillance this evening and if nothing of interest happens, we will have to shift some rocks to see what crawls out from beneath." He turned to leave until Fuchs stopped him with a look.

"Major, there is one person at the inn that might lead to something. There is a bartender there who by all appearances is a loner and seems to make the female staff uncomfortable. Perhaps we should take a closer look at him..." he suggested in a leading fashion.

"Very well, keep a strict eye on him this evening. Follow him and see if anything turns up. Also, feel free to check into the man's background...after all, we are the Gestapo," Hochstetter finished with a smirk.

Fuchs sat back in his chair for a moment, steeple his fingers, pursed his lips deep in thought...maybe Phantom's concerns were nothing serious, but Fuchs had learned to trust the man's read on people. Either way, tonight was going to be a busy evening.

He called in his secretary and asked her to pull all the information related to the inn, personnel dossiers on the staff, especially that of Bruno Reiger. He worked his way through the dossiers and was just finishing up the one on the owner. The only file left to read was that of Reiger; suddenly, the door to his office was thrown open announcing the entrance of someone completely unexpected. A Waffen SS Colonel stood imperiously before his desk as he waited to Fuchs to come to attention. Slapping his gloves against his pant leg, the colonel arrogantly scrutinized the captain from head to toe and dismissed him entirely when he heard the door to Hochstetter's office open abruptly.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion? What is the reason for all this noise?" Hochstetter started immediately. He gazed spitefully at the Waffen SS Colonel with the look that conveyed his contempt of the man's arrogance. The schwein was probably some coddled landed gentry who chose the uniform for the flash and who had no substance, he decided as he noticed the other man's finely tailored uniform and great coat. Having come from a strictly middle class background and having worked hard to get where he was, Hochstetter held such men in utter contempt, only offering the bare minimum of military civility. He clicked his heels together smartly, and asked, "Colonel, how may the Hammelburg Gestapo assist you today?"

Hochstetter was an acute judge of character in most cases. In this instance, he had judged correctly because Colonel Reinhardt Van Goesel was indeed a man who had bought his rank through favors and influence, yet felt himself to be the most important asset to the Third Reich. Removing his cap, straightening his shoulders, and stepping past the major into the larger office, without being invited and completely disregarding Fuchs, Van Goesel made himself comfortable at Hochstetter's desk in his chair.

Hochstetter growled softly under his breath as he met Fuch's eyes and turned to re-enter his office. Without even giving Hochstetter time. Van Goesel, began, "Hochstetter, why are you inquiring about matters that are none of your concern? What need have you for information about a respected wounded soldier and member of the Volksrhome?"

"Herr Colonel, I am afraid I do not understand...you drove all the way here because of an innocent inquiry into a bartender?" Hochstetter replied, eyes sparkling as the game began...

Colonel Van Goebel immediately realized his mistake in coming here from Berlin regarding the supposed bartender...he met Hochstetter's piercing gaze and replied, "The man is a decorated war hero and a friend of my family. Take care in this matter," he growled shortly, gathering up his coat, hat, and riding crop. Without a backward glance, he left the office.

Running his finger over his mustache, Hochstetter watched the retreating figure with interest, only stopping when Fuchs came into the office with the file on Bruno Reiger. Without any comment, Hochstetter took the file, opened it, and both men sat down to read it. Curiosity is a clever mistress, always enticing; by the end of the afternoon, before Fuchs left to meet up with Hogan and his men, he and Hochstetter had learned some interesting things about Herr Reiger.


End file.
